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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845094">Verglas Thawed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploringClouds/pseuds/ExploringClouds'>ExploringClouds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Competition, English is my second language, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Ice Skating, Little Mystery, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, OC is surprising, Slow Burn, Snow and Ice, Started As A Reader Fic. Alex Took Over, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, figure skating</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:07:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploringClouds/pseuds/ExploringClouds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She has the cutest innocence, her dark umber eyes flickered with white starlight when she smiled. Her small figure leaned upwards as she stood, literally, on the point of her socked feet. </p><p>And Oswald had fallen long before he knew it.</p><p>He was a vulnerable beauty. </p><p>The palest skin, brushed by soft black spikes and hidden underneath, teal eyes that gleamed. His confident repertoire that brimmed with flashy snark, a perfect match for her playful replies.<br/>The nervous tingle that she felt when he smiled, the so ineffable warmth of the certainty they brought to each other. </p><p> </p><p>OR </p><p>Probably should mention that it starts in season 1,  a little way from the first episode. The fundamentals remain the same. Our little Penguin is still murdering his way to the throne, discreetly of course. Fish Mooney and other mobsters still cause havoc, Falcone knows something. And a lot relies on the upcoming competition thaat symbolises something for the filth in the streets of Gotham. For Malcolm Warlock has left quite a legacy behind for his child.<br/>.  .  .<br/>Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my original characters, sans that , everything is of Fox .</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oswald Cobblepot/Original Character(s), Oswald Cobblepot/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Mist On The Burning City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Aeraki, a misted gray dinghy, moves swiftly, true to its name. It cuts through the relentless tides like a glinting razor, dainty and sharp. The two tanned sailor boys are at the rudder, sailing their way ahead. </p><p>White fingers grip the hull as she quietly looks at the nearing sin city, the tips dripping drops of icy cloudburst. With the boys beating down the furious tempest, they'll be reaching Gotham in less than an hour, which should be great, she knew smooth sailing was a joke in these waters, but the pair is working one hell of a miracle.</p><p> </p><p>Alex looks up at the darkening sky, eyes wide and extinguished, it's still the same, after a decade, the voluminous clouds pouring out their waters could have passed for the ones she saw that day. . . And <em> that </em> is deeply unsettling. </p><p>Unchanged clouds are nothing compared to an unchanged city, not that Alex is scared, but she had hoped that Gotham would have changed.</p><p> </p><p>Especially if Mitchell Carlton is there and he's asking her to come back. </p><p>Alex's wet fingers clasp the folded letter in her inside pocket ….The folded <em> illegible </em> letter in her pocket that brought her here . . . Mitchell and his mysteries. . . She smiles fondly remembering the stuttering boy she'd met so many seasons ago. A vague character, easily nerved yet he could have such a stiff upper lip.</p><p>He was clearly in a drunken stupor when he wrote the letter, but the scrawling blunt letters were partly comprehensible after a while.  So she deciphered the last few words. </p><p>A big fat, "<b>PLEASE COME TO GOTHAM</b>" inked out at the end.</p><p>Her earthen orbs search the city , the biting zephyrs hurling the cool mist away from it. Alex runs a hand through her fallen black mane, feeling the jangled locks. </p><p>She left Gotham at a young age. Balancing a life she could have once easily lived , but the circumstances at home forced her to leave with little hope of a return .She traveled the blue green globe. Saw the vast cities of this world, yet there was no place like home. Found a friend or two . Competed to her heart's content while working god damn hard to stay afloat. Somehow didn't fall in love. </p><p>And now she's on her way back. Alex didn't plan on returning so soon but if Gotham and Mitchell have called, she will answer. For opportunities don't darken doors twice. </p><p><em> And </em> she's already left her footprints in the rinks of the world. </p><p>Maybe she could find something different in Gotham. </p><p>… </p><p>The sailor boy watches Alex Warlock , her black mane flies as she leaps out of the boat, onto the shoddy wood of Miller Harbor. It's eye-catching, how coolly she navigates through the fatal docklands. </p><p>Rustling the smooth crisp notes in his hands, he sneaks a glance at the girl for the last time. She's faded into her surroundings, yet somehow he finds her instantly. </p><p>It's funny… for a pretty girl like her, with her face as fresh as a blossom, he can't believe that she doesn't have thorns. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Of Aleatory Acquaintances and Assignations Agin Alex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex strolls by, passing the florist's shop, laden with flowers. She sighs into the heady scent of loaves surrounding the bakery pausing midway, nose perked high into the Gotham air.</p><p>The pain au chocolat they made, oh god . . </p><p>Ahh. . . <em> The Heavenly Host of All Things Confectionary </em> . . . It's been around for a long  <em> long </em> time. Nobody bakes bread like they do. Alex sighs longingly. </p><p>"Maybe one day, my crusty cakes." She muses and moves on. </p><p>.  .  . </p><p> </p><p>The Gotham's Gazette, an edifice that has braved scandalized celebrities, angry mayors, the odd melees and even a couple of mobsters, it is the nesting place of vultures, the cultist breeding ground of nosing, the make or break frenemy of the whole famous body… Alex smiles cheekily, she wonders if they've interviewed Mitchell yet.</p><p>Her flats tap the wet pavement in a quick step, rest of her dressed in sleek black pants and a button-up that evaded most of the rain, courtesy of the trenchcoat. </p><p>Her dripping strands are in a fallible style, a pain they protest against. The locks brush her face, the cold droplets sliding across her cheeks. </p><p>A pricey achromatic pin hoists them slightly. </p><p>She observes the shadowy building, stopping for a second. It's been painted recently and actually looks nice enough. Otherwise the crackly coat and the shrieking doorbell had been enough to drive anyone away.. </p><p>Alex moves on, only some more gap to cover, so obviously this is the time when, close to her destination, she manages to bump into someone. </p><p>Kismet decides that it had to be bloody cops. </p><p>"<em> Zut alors </em>!" </p><p>She stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, and collides into a <em> tall, dark, </em> and <em> handsome </em> cop. They butt into each other and her precarious hairpin loosens further and falls off as Alex abruptly catches herself on a lamp post and her arm snakes around the other's waist to steady her, avoiding a nasty embrace with the cement. </p><p>"Sorry." Alex subconsciously pushes back her hair to study the winded woman in front of her, not realizing the sudden lack of hairpin.</p><p>"It's okay." The cop mutters as her friend, a dark , shaved man grabs her arm. </p><p>"That's quite the save." The man gives her a toothy smile. "Detective Allen," he offers her his hand. "This is my partner, Detective Montoya." Alex gives it a quick shake before turning to Montoya. "I'm so sorry. I just didn't see you." </p><p>"It's all right." Montoya affirms, adjusting her jacket. "You are?" </p><p>"Doesn't matter." She says impatiently, wincing inside when two pairs of eyebrows high five the foreheads. So she forces a smile, grabs her bags and does the only thing left to do, sidesteps them both and skedaddles. </p><p>She loudly hears a "Hey!" as she crosses the street. </p><p> </p><p>Montoya peers at the small skittish girl running off, "Who was that?" She asks , eyebrows creasing. </p><p>Allen shrugs, "A Gothamite."</p><p>"You sure?" Montoya dusts off her spotless jacket. She commits to memory, the shy face with black hair…. the girl had great reflexes. </p><p>"Yeah." Allen says, holding the forgotten hairpin.</p><p>. . .</p><p>Mitchell Carlton sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets as to abstain from running them through his freshly gelled locks. He looks at the time <em> again </em> only to realise <em> again </em>that only a minute has passed.</p><p>As he starts to pace back and forth the office, Mitchell starts mumbling out loud, "She would come, w-wouldn't she? I mean, come on… It's Alex.. Sh-She would understand -" </p><p>"The letter?"  A voice interrupts. Mitchell rapidly turns to see her standing there, small and white with a hint of pale pink, she smiles, dripping gallantly all over the floor of the office room of <em> Carlton's Figure Skating Center </em>. </p><p>"I couldn't read it. It was so blotchy. But I <em> did </em> decipher the last sentences with the help of an exceptional cryptographer. <em> PLEASE COME TO GOTHAM." </em> She pronounces pointedly, waving the paper piece that brought her here . Mitchell stares at her wildly, it's been a year of no contact, and she stands in front like it's been a day. </p><p>Anxiety floods Mitchell's face, while he knew his penmanship was messy in that letter, he didn't consider it illegible. </p><p>Alex waits for six drip-drops. </p><p>Mitchell croaks, " You couldn't read my letter?" His eyes betray a sense of utter despondency and remorse, <em> not </em> out of character of Mitchell , as if he already dreads everything that ever happened and will happen in his life. </p><p>"I'm sorry." Alex concedes, giving him a small nod. </p><p>Mitchell shakes his head, " <em> I </em>am sorry...I...I wasn't in a... In a good place when I wrote it." </p><p>"I figured." Either through the remorseful bawling energy that the letter radiated or by the untidy scrawl with inky holes all over embellishing the parchment. </p><p>"But you came anyway?" Mitchell lets out breath as he sinks down on the settee with his head in his shaky hands. The letter was the one time he'd tried to be <em> slightly </em> brave, and of course it turned out to be <em> incomprehensible…  </em></p><p>Mitchell remembers the past few wretched weeks of his life. He leaps over the guns and threatening part, lest he start chattering like cold teeth about everything and anything .  </p><p>Alex sits down next to him, "Hey" She examines his face, a cold sweat has broken over. Alex clutches his hand, squeezing life back inside.</p><p>Mitchell holds tight, relieved at the contact. "I'm absolutely gutted, Alex." </p><p>"You dislike this city that much, huh?" She muses. He shakes his head, "It's something else." </p><p>"What is it?" </p><p>Mitchell just gets it through his mouth, "I met someone." Alex squints." So that's good? Isn't it?" </p><p> </p><p>"Salvatore Maroni. I met Salvatore Maroni." He says simply. </p><p> </p><p>Alex stays quiet , searching past memories for the name. She remembers the suited men that always roamed her home, used to harshly whisper to each other names. And dates and precise locations that she had once asked about to her mother. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Blaire Warlock's face had turned wooden and she'd snapped at her child for talking nonsense. Alex had been terrified with the way her mom had grasped her shoulders tightly, demanding she never say it again.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The tea had boiled over , and her mom had hurried away. Alex had stood there scared, before running off.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Her father had found her, hiding in a corner of the porch's alcove, her face in a teary pout and eyes puffy, looking at the light deluge taking over the sky.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She'd asked him after a while, what the name had meant. He'd just smiled and told her to keep it a secret, and she'd understand when she was older.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"The man is a mobster, isn't he?" Alex says quietly, must have crossed paths with her dad before.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah he is. I ended up talking to him…. He was ah…..an unsettling bloke." His nose screws up at the memory ,"He told me he'd heard of the financial lack in the upcoming skating Carlton competition and apparently , he wanted to make a deal with me." Mitchell pours out the story. </p><p>Of how the Italian, Don Maroni offered to pay for the costs of the competition if . . And only if . . Mitchell presented him with the winner of the competition , so he could sponsor the person too, publicly because of the history of the place. </p><p>
  <em> The last time Gotham Figure Skating Centre had worked with the mobsters it had ended with Falcone being crowned king. As a sign of mutual respect, he had kept its cogs oiled and running smooth.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Alex closes her eyes, hard. </p><p>Maroni wanted to turn this competition into a mocking minefield. He wanted to show Falcone that the misstep could lead to dishonour. And maybe.. Just maybe.. It would end with a crowned Salvatore. </p><p> </p><p>The hothead wanted to send a message to Falcone through this. . . </p><p><em> Even great kings may fall, </em> Alex thought <em> .  Remembering her teen days in Gotham . How Falcone's name was spoken in hushed whispers alone. The trembling tones of the tyrants who'd dare to even think about wronging him . . .  </em></p><p>Mitchell continues to speak in jittery letters . As his plan becomes clearer in her head , she realizes why he'd called her here , she realizes why the letter was blotchy and illegible, tainted by his drunken tears as he never hoped Alex would come . And if she did, she should want to go back . She should want to think of all this as a nightmare . But Gotham is the catastrophic paragon she vowed to one day return to . . . It is the jagged cacophony that won't go unheard. And Mitchell is in a bad place right now . . .If he'd refused the Don's request,  he wouldn't be standing here . .  </p><p>"So you decided to drag me into this ? " Alex sighs, a little tired of the constant ploys the center was always roped into. Mitchell looks away from the unmoved figure in front of him, aghast. </p><p>"I'm sorry, Alex ! But it was the only way , and you are the perfect person for this, one of the greatest, most graceful figure skaters. <em> and </em> a Warlock. In this <em> center. </em> " He says in harried tones, gesturing with his hands . .</p><p>"Sorry doesn't remove my role in this twisted play you've become a pawn in. You of all people should know what this means. And. You want me to not only compete, but <em> win? </em>." She says, a little shaky, a little shrill, thrown off by his cajoling. "Stop the snow job, Mitchell." Alex says tiredly. </p><p>Irritation flares when another question pops in her head. </p><p>"Why do you even need so much money anyway?" She snaps, "The Carltons have enough money to buy an island in the Caribbeans." </p><p>Mitchell looks at her for a long moment, troubled lines in his face. He swallows his shame and lets the cat out of the bag. </p><p>"No they don't. My father lost it."</p><p> </p><p>Alex looks up in shock ,seeing his sunken eyes. His loose suit, hanging on to him instead of tightly fitting. "How?"</p><p>"It doesn't matter…But it is why I'm here, in this city. My father thought it would be easy black money, he pushed me to come here with our last coinage. He was wrong." Mitchell says bitterly. "He hasn't been sober ever since we lost everything, he's worrying mother to death. My family has retreated to a quiet estate by the countryside, they've managed to keep up appearances, but the truth will come out in the open , <em> if </em> it doesn't disappear." </p><p>Alex huffs out a breath. Her nutty eyes make contact with his. His evergreen orbs seem to have lost their luster, dull like a sagging grass blade. </p><p>She squeezes his hand, deadbeat parents are a link that connects the two. </p><p>Mitchell continues hopefully , "Alex… I <em> can't </em> force you to help me, but I <em> can </em>help you in return."</p><p>She looks up at him, "How?"</p><p>He sidesteps her and opens the door, gesturing to the vast halls of the center. "You can train here, during the future months, you can have a life here. " He gives out a watery smile, "Make Gotham your home again."</p><p>She shakes her head, "Mitchell…" That's too big of a decision to even consider it right now. No matter how good the consolations are. </p><p> </p><p>"Please Alex…Give me a chance. Give<em> this </em>a chance." He pleads. </p><p>"No, Mitchell.." She says sadly. Soulful eyes looking past him. "Even <em> if </em>I agreed to help you with your current predicament.. Who knows if I might be able to help you even?." </p><p>"You can do it. You're the only one I trust to  do it." </p><p>"Mitchell, it's in nine months." She snarks. </p><p>"I know how urgent it is… " He moans pitifully at his ill luck.  "But.. At least look at this new place once. . The center's closed today, I had the rooms redecorated, so it reopens tomorrow. So you can try out the rink. It's exquisite." He smiles thinly. </p><p>Alex warns, pointing a digit at him, "Don't push me and we make it a very quick tour." </p><p>He holds up his hands in faux-surrender, "I wouldn't dare do anything that <em> Alex Warlock </em>wouldn't approve of." He tries the commercial  smirk with a wink. </p><p>It fails. </p><p>"You already did. A bunch of times." She scoffs and walks off. Mitchell splutters, "I already said I was sorry. </p><p>
  <em> This is what happens when he even tries to advertise…  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Au Fait, Acquainting for the First</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy readings, mon amis.</p><p>Lemme know what you think?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Its miraculous… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The frozen white rink…The entire room a stretch of soft grays and whites. .. Alex stretches on the boundary and smiles dazedly at the ice… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitchell can't help but grin back.  The very room seems to enthuse as Alex skates .. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rips fast through the air, arms extending outwards. Left foot grasped at the blade edge and lifted straight by her right hand, shirt furling in the glide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitchell beams proudly as he watches her transition into the double axel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there it is, Alex fluidly spins two and a half times in the air , her hands up and outstretched elegantly, and she lands breezily on one skate, her small figure swiftly comes to a stop and she bows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitchell claps, "Excellent work." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She skates to him, resting her arms on the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is the Bielmann spin in your routine?" He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Finally." She breathes out. "I still worry about the haircutter step, I wouldn't want a sudden change of hairstyle in the middle of a performance." Alex chuckles, patting her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The crowd would go wild if you did. Scissors would be replaced by skate blades." He jokes.  Alex smiles shyly at the flattery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mitchell ventures on, "I.. Uh… I</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got you a place to stay until you find an apartment. Or until you make your decision. Soon, I hope." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods, "Let me think about it for a day or two, okay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe not that long.." He says sadly. "Maroni will be aware of your arrival by tomorrow. I won't even need to tell him." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches her pout as she thinks about it. "I want a day." She says firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Agreed." Mitchell fishes out the key and address from his pant pockets . "Gotham Royal Hotel.. Room 7. 2nd Floor."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Royal Hotel? That's where the fat cats lie. How'd you afford that ?" She says casually, remembering the ladies bedizened with immodest garments and four-inch heels</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She used to hide behind her father whenever her parents took her to revels hosted by his one friend. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maroni insisted." Mitchell informs. Alex nods. They look at each other. It's been a long time. The scrawny spectacled teen she used to know stands a world-worn youth, fixing his father's mistakes. But maybe, there's still parts of him that haven't been torn away by sudden misfortunes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mitchell half-hugs her, pressed against the wall separating them by the waists. "You really didn't cut it." He says, referring to her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I like it this way." Alex smiles lightly. "It was nice to see you, Mitchell." She admits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's nice to know that." He sniffs out. Alex smiles warmly as she feels the upcoming waves of emotion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then maybe we'll be friends again." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hopes. She wonders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim Gordon walks into the beautiful hallway, pressing the elevator button. He turns to see a young woman grabbing her two bags and walking past him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss ?" He calls out, the female turns, "Yes.?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon gestures to the just arriving elevator, "You can take the lift."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watches the shiny metal contraption. He watches her watch it. She has a lithe, graceful figure  and would have been willowy if it weren't for her small height. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her arched posture sticks out like a sore thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay." She smiles uneasily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim enters the lift and she follows. He presses number 2 and asks about her lodgings, discovering she's about to live on the same floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex's eyes dart around as the doors close , her hands shake so hard that she stuffs them in her coat pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's going to be a short ride, but Jim notices the slight discomfort in her eyes as she stares around, the walls feel asphyxiating and a grinning steel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They settle into an awkward quietude as they go up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a while, the elevator dings and he can faintly hear her relieved exhale. The cop grabs her luggage for her, she gives her salutations gratefully and stumbles into her new quarters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim slightly wonders upon her tangible uneasiness before turning into his own rooms, only to realise Barbara isn't there right now.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>.  .  . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is a lot like candlelight. The fire flickers rhythmically, casting shadows on the melted gold walls . Outside the large windows, the city appears calm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relieved at the open space, Alex flops down on the queen-size bed. Her small luggage is resting in a corner of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets out a sigh of comfort, as the sheets sink under her figure. Grabbing the menu, she searches the supper sections. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Assortments of bread and cheese. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Names upon names of wines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aperitifs, confectionaries and three-course meals. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a waste. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex sighs. Mitchell spent precious money on this useless albeit luxurious room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least she'll have a good bath. At least that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She's not sure about food, though. Somehow she doubts that they have peanut butter and graham crackers in nighttime foods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex rolls over in the large empty bed, tossing the menu aside and shuts her lids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>.  .  . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex snaps awake at 4:45 on the dot. She blinks, looking at the pale sunlight coming through the window. She washes up. Yawning happily, she goes for the bath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alex lets out a sigh of relief as she sinks into  the bubbly tub. The scent of lemons and fruits from the bath salts creates a secure ambience she relaxes in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She muses about the new centre. The rink is almost identical, the rest she barely noticed, there was too much on her mind anyways . And Mitchell is running it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alex lathers the soap on her arms, thinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's going to have to give an answer to the Don, and call her crazy but she has a feeling that he won't take 'No' as an option and let her sail away happily with her limbs attached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can't </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> threaten her with physical pain, because then there'd be no one left to win. So what can Maroni do ? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex smiles dryly. Before she can decide that, she needs to talk face-to-face with the mob boss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, a meeting is inevitable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs, sinking deeper in the white waters, her naked back sliding against the ceramic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn't need to do anything, they'll come to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And around the late afternoon, there's a knock on the painted green door. She swings it open to see a leather-jacketed man, a hand resting on his holster. Two men standing behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alexandra Warlock?" He asks clearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's Alex." She nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don Maroni wants to see you. Do you understand that?"  He towers over her, looking down intimidatingly. She looks up flatly. "I do." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This way, then." The man says. They exit the hotel through the stairs and when they shove her into the dark car, there's a black bag pulled roughly over her head. Alex holds in air as it does, and her hands start shaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>. . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When that horrendous ride is over and the itchy cloth is pulled off her, she breathes out harshly. She sits in a restaurant on a round table fully occupied and surrounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitchell is nowhere to be seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her tongue has dried and cracks up , so she just stares at the large man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look scared." The man notes. Alex avoids eye contact. Instead, staring at the table as she forces in air, working her lungs. The restaurant is large and classy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You hurt her , Frankie?" The Don asks, tone almost concerned, turning around to look at her escort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't lay a hand on her." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frankie </span>
  </em>
  <span>replies, slightly agitated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really?" Maroni chuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't, Boss." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, okay, I believe you. ." Maroni says softly. "Now, let's start off easy, okay, little dancer ?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stares at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know why you're here ?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex nods, "Yes. Mitchell told me." Her voice scratchy from disuse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex notices a small, pale man dressed in sharp black and white fabrics sitting next to Maroni. . One of his many black spikes gently lays against his cheekbone as he quietly watches, no.. </span>
  <em>
    <span>observes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good. Now that you know what you have to do. The only question is : Are you going to do it ?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex stays silent as he continues, "Now I hear that these.. </span>
  <em>
    <span>competitions, </span>
  </em>
  <span>require you to be at the top of your health, so obviously you </span>
  <em>
    <span>won't</span>
  </em>
  <span> be hurt, in any way." He smiles comfortingly, Alex doesn't bite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then comes the sucker punch in the gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Unless, of course, you disappoint me. And believe me, you'll regret, " He pauses, his eyes show his temper . "Disappointing me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now, are you going to do it ?" He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex.. nods once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man smiles playfully , "Good, you didn't disappoint me." The man turns, "Frankie, bring our little businessman back here." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man next to Maroni has a slight edge in his eyes as he watches Frankie walk into the kitchen. But it disappears quick enough that only she sees it. She looks at him for a second, quickly shifting lest he catch her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maroni notices her gaze and says, "Meet Penguin, Miss Warlock." Maroni's hand tightly squeezes his shoulder, before giving him a friendly slap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looks at her, she stares back. He smiles shortly, tilting his head. She just stares with her widening eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before she can say anything, Mitchell appears, perfectly fine just more than slightly alarmed to see her. Frankie sits him down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alex." He bursts out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mitchell." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She agrees, my friend. Seems like all your denial was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>denial</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I apologize , Don Maroni. It won't happen again." Mitchell sadly says. "Don't do it again." Maroni says. "Its </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" His tone takes on a level of fiery irritation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes sir." Maroni nods after a moment, he signals to Frankie and a beige folder and a blue biro are placed down in front of the two.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your contract." Maroni gestures , "Read quickly." He says, lounging on the chair slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex reaches out and opens it, her face a blank sheet. She reads through the terms, Penguin watches her with disinterest, as she takes her sweet time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She taps the page, looking up boredly. "Carlton has an oral contract?" She asks. Penguin huffs while Maroni smiles, "And ?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitchell looks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mitchell gets the written word, or no deal." Alex snaps it shut, letting the folder slip back on the table. .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Don snickers, placing his chin on his fist, platinum watch flashing. He grins at the skater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie's grip on his handgun tightens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex waits a second, quickly running all options in her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Take it out of mine. Exchange our payment methods." She offers, Mitchell sighs out sadly, knowingly far too better than to say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maroni laughs , before waving a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay." He smiles amusedly. Penguin stares at her, surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sign wherever it's required, Mitchell's face hides his regret and woe as he pushes the pen on paper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll send you a copy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maroni nods, then he turns to Penguin, "Escort her out. Mr. Carlton and I have a little business. Okay?" He says the last word to Alex, she confirms yes. Shooting a glance at last, at Mitchell , Alex gets up and follows the man. She notices his limp after a while, far too rooted in her own thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That pushes her focus to him, Alex is pretty sure that he can feel her eyes on the back of his head. But she continues staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they're outside, the moist environment washes over them both. It's raining, apparently. He huffs and looks at one of the henchmen standing guard.  The guard immediately picks up his phone and calls for a car. Alex intervenes, not wanting another car ride with her vision obscured, "It's okay, I'll walk." She interrupts softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks at her, eyes sharp, "You don't know the way." He says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs, she would like to say that Gotham is her home and she memorized its streets when she was eleven and still remembers everything , but somehow that feels a little too braggy so she just says, "I'll be fine." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles hopefully, he stares for a second, then his face twists up in scowl and he limps over to an umbrella stand and fishes one out for her. The goon takes it as a sign and puts down his phone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He holds it out to her and she gratefully wraps her hand around the cool handle and their fingers brush, Alex freezes at the realization that his hands are as cold as ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up at him, establishing eye contact. Her artistic eyes catch the hidden glint in those blue orbs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you." Mouth tugging into a small smile as she turns away from him and walks out onto the splashed cement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>. . .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oswald stares after the small figure walking away in the forceful showers. Her dark hair seems to merge with the black umbrella he gave her. He remembers her face when she glanced at him, sharp and alert, yet rather gentle. Almost innocent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oswald huffs out a breath, banishing those thoughts out with the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returns inside and spends the rest of the day busy, all thoughts of a certain dancer leaving his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until darkness falls, and since there are no cars currently available as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Boss</span>
  </em>
  <span> has gone out to celebrate, apparently an evening of drinks and dining at Bamonte's wasn't enough, he has to walk home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He goes to the umbrella stand because the rain just </span>
  <em>
    <span>won't</span>
  </em>
  <span> stop, he realises that he gave </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>umbrella to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's a fact that brings her innocent face, looking up at him with a soft smile, straight back to his mind.  </span>


</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'd love to know your thoughts on Alex's past.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Words And Blades</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It's 5 in the morning. She's sitting in an empty cafe, munching the only high fibre cereal the grumpy, sleep-deprived owner had. Apparently the boy opens up shop at 4 in the morning, since it works as a drug hub on the side. She can tell from the boy's sickly body, that he's a strong taker . Even now he lights up a cigarette, pouring out whiskey in a glass, some of it sloshing on the dirty counter as he glares red-eyed at her.</p><p>But the doorbell rings and the people start coming in, the soles of their boots drenched and leaving dark wet footprints on the gleaming silvery tiles , so his fury falls on another. Alex swallows the last bite of the crunchy cereal, sets her bills on the counter and hauls tail. </p><p> </p><p>The newspaper left lying on the emptied table is open at the third page , fluttering ever so from the wind whistling through the open door. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>New Figure Skating Centre up and running, by Mitchell Carlton. . </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maroni Holdings to sponsor figure skater . . </em>
</p><p>… </p><p>The off-ice training rooms are beautiful, Mitchell's persona shines through along with every twinkling filament in the bulbs. The multicolored rooms are positively spiffy and bustling with energy, the instruments sleek to touch. </p><p>There's a majority of skaters working out, Alex stretches her hips and bends down, the fabric of the grey tank top stretching along nicely. </p><p>She nods at the coach, earning a smile when she slides her foot forward smoothly into a full split.</p><p>Alex breathes in a lungful of cold air, concentrating on the feeling. </p><p>But for a moment, her gaze slips to a couple embracing. They're not pair skaters, and that's what makes her keep watching, the boy soon leaves the room, after squeezing the girl's hand. The girl still has a smile on her face as she shifts her focus to training. </p><p> </p><p>Alex ignores the slight curiosity it brings. </p><p>. . . </p><p>There's a blue flyer stapled on the bulletin board nailed in the hall. It describes the workings of the females' figure skating competition, a short program, then a free skate.</p><p> </p><p>It's read again and again by skaters, the coaches know it by heart, and Mitchell says it in his sleep. </p><p>. . .  </p><p>
  <em>One week later …</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Oswald watches through the car window into the streets, scowling. They go by fast, too fast for him. He hangs on to the few seconds left, but soon enough the car tumbles into a stop. </p><p>Oswald waits a minute before sharply opening the door and closing it shut with a hard push. He winces up the stairs and into the fast working world of ice skating. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He's at the ice arena, his hands on the wall as he searches for her among all the skaters. He huffs in frustration as she doesn't appear, he was told she was here, and he's about to go back to the car and be free of all the looks he's receiving. </p><p> </p><p>Alex stretches on the wall, pushing her leg up above the head into the Biellmann stretch. </p><p>"Straighter." Io, the coach speaks. </p><p>Alex nods, straining her leg further, as she holds the position her eyes wander over and fall on a surprising figure. </p><p>"You're right on the stretches, Coach." Alex mumbles distractedly, wondering if that really is him. </p><p>Oswald's stance is unmistakable , face upturned in a scowl as he looks around. </p><p>"Of course I am." He replies seriously. Io follows her gaze to see a man standing impatiently on the other side of the wall. "Do you know him?" He asks, without any care. </p><p>"We've met."</p><p>Io sighs at the distracted tone in her voice. "Go ahead. You have a minute to spare." </p><p>"Thanks, Coach!" Alex smiles sheepishly and glides away. </p><p> </p><p>Oswald stares off into the ice , he's seething at the lack of a small face which hasn't left his mind for too long, so much that he doesn't notice Alex until she noisily stops in front of him, her skates scratching the ice. </p><p>He looks at her, eyes bright and sharp like shards, she just smiles, "Hey." </p><p>She stands in front of him, swathed in similar clothes as the rest of the people here, posture relaxed like she'd been here her whole life, looking at him. </p><p>Not like the rest staring amusedly at his limp, or jarred by his pale unconventional form. </p><p>No she's looking like she doesn't question his presence a bit, he had a right to be here as much as her. </p><p>It brings on particular feelings he immediately disregards, throwing them in a box and turning the key. </p><p>He scowls , "Don Maroni wants to know how you feel about your upcoming work." </p><p>
  <em>Maroni had elected a symbolic climb to the throne.. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gotham just might embrace him more easily.. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Alex brightens up, initially a little scared, "He sent you to talk?" She has a small smile forming on her flushed face. </p><p>Interpreting her grin for mockery, he lashes out, "<em>No</em>! I regretfully happened to be headed your way. And I am not here to <em>chat</em>." The lie is a lie is a lie, but it's the only defence he has. .. besides the switchblade. </p><p>His face screws up in distaste as he remembers Maroni's words from the morning.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>She's all yours, my friend." The Don snickers, fondly slapping his shoulder, before giving Bamonte's an appreciative nod, and heading out. </em></p><p>
  <em>Frankie eyed Penguin vindictively, first he'd snagged this place, had become Maroni's advisor and now had been granted control of a powerful asset.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sighing internally at her careless words, she says quietly, "I'm sorry." Her earthen eyes meet his powerful orbs, "I apologize for any inconvenience."  </p><p>Oswald stares, his face unreadable. </p><p>"Please send my salutations to him." Alex nods and turns away, Io is waiting most impatiently. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Gotham admires effort. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That of the men behind the curtain and the skater on the spotlit ice</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Wait !" His voice comes out weak, and he winces inside. </p><p>Alex turns curiously and he continues, "He also wants to know about your performance plans." </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Effort and time go hand in hand. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>" Figure Skaters don't usually choreograph and perfect a routine in a week. So you can see a few separate pieces." Alex speaks formally, he notices. </p><p>"Do you want to sit down..?" She asks nervously. Penguin notices the discomfort in his leg, letting out a faint groan. </p><p>"No, thank you! " He replies, voice high and edged. </p><p>She nods once, turning to someone else, she mouths something at a man, before sailing away.  </p><p> </p><p>He watches curiously as Alex glides backward into a circle and then stops effortlessly , spinning. </p><p>Her small chest lays back with her hips thrusted forward, and her hands are arched out, tapering. One skate is lifted so she's spinning on one blade. </p><p> </p><p>Oswald's eyes have widened. He swallows. </p><p> </p><p>And she takes the thin silvery blade, and elegantly pulls her ankle above her head, in a full split while spinning. Her upper body is pushed up and she maintains that form. </p><p>Alex spins beautifully for some short moments, before exiting the position with her shifting easily into a one foot glide. </p><p> </p><p>A redhead nods, skating toward her . "Very neat." Io states. Alex smiles, her blades swish as she goes over to Oswald. </p><p> </p><p>He goes rigid. </p><p> </p><p>"How was I?" She asks innocuously. </p><p>Oswald stares, his eyes wide and face pale. Before she can do anything, he limps away.  </p><p> </p><p>A perplexed Alex watches the figure walking away. Her shoulders slump , skating away, back to training, looking for him one last time to see the hem of his coat sway as he limps out. </p><p>It was only a second later, when a thought distracted her again, <em>Was he going to be here every week ? </em></p><p>. . . </p><p>Butch walks into Mooney's Nightclub from the back exit , a thick folder in his hands. Fish sits in the front table, having her private entertainment.</p><p>Her laugh rings throughout the rooms, the youthful comedian on stage nervously smiles.</p><p>Butch bends down to her ear and Fish puts the silverware down, the knife glinting in the crimson lighting of the club. </p><p>Butch whispers in her ear as she leans back, "Everything's inside " </p><p>She smiles, her hazel eyes twinkling as she demurely picks up the yellow folder. It's opened, and the photo of a young adolescent in a short white dress lies inside. </p><p>There's a golden medal adorning her neck. </p><p>Alexandra E. Warlock. </p><p>It shows the debutante skater winning her first title. From ten years ago, in this very city. </p><p>Fish looks at the next pictures. One of the pictures , even older, is more personal. Two men stand, infant Alex in the arms of one. </p><p>He has the same black hair and snowy complexion as Alex. The other has greying hair and blue eyes, Fish knows him all too well. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Montoya cradles the hairpin in her hand, feeling the twist of the metal and tracing the little white roses with her fingertips. </p><p>Crispus looks down at it, "You kept the pin?"</p><p>Renée says , "I'm going to give it back to <em> Alex </em>." </p><p>Crispus nods, remembering the black and white photo of the girl. A figure skater.</p><p>He once again looks at the snitch's file. "You still want to check out the docks for witnesses?" </p><p>She ignores the tired tone in his voice, gingerly depositing the hairpin in her pocket, "Yeah, let's go."</p><p>.  .  . </p><p>Fish smiles as she comes forward, arms outstretched to greet Falcone. His henchmen silently fill the scanty red club, Butch steps away as the two sit down. </p><p>"Hello, my dear." Falcone says. Fish smiles warmly. "Don Falcone," She murmurs. "A pleasure to see you."</p><p>Carmine smiles, his eyes old and light-blue. "You have something to show me  ?" He asks. </p><p>"I do." She replies smoothly. She pushes a folder in front of him with two manicured fingers.</p><p>He opens it, his eyes suddenly take on an startling energy. After a cursory glance to the rest of the pages, he looks up severely. </p><p>"Is this true ?" </p><p>"As can be." She croons .</p><p>"And this is Maroni's work ?" Falcone asks. </p><p>Mooney purrs positive , delight hidden beneath. </p><p> </p><p>Falcone nods, "Thank you, my dear. I'm glad you called me before taking action." He says a goodbye and walks away, the folder goes with him. Fish smiles at his retreating back. </p><p>She makes her authentic hiss and Butch rushes in. "He knew them, Butch." Her neck arches to face him. "He knew the Warlocks."                                                  </p><p>.  .  . </p><p>Alex stares at the moody waves. The pier is all wany wood and ocean smells.</p><p>Fishermen see it day-to-day, the classic shady cargo deals have occurred here , for some souls the damp planks and the pale saxe horizon were the last thing they saw before their brains were blasted.  </p><p>For 13-year old Alex, this was the farewell to Gotham. The last goodbye. She was hauled away unwanted from this pier onto a boat, before her mother could find her, howling as the shock of losing not one, but both parents, battered her. </p><p>She was told that her mother had stood on the pier's end, fists shaking with rage and screaming like a banshee at the faint outline of the boat. </p><p>Two weeks went by on the mainland, and the only thing that ever came for her was a will. </p><p>A will leaving her everything. </p><p>The widowed Blair Warlock had run away, leaving a shell-shocked child behind, in the hands of foolish advocates. </p><p> </p><p>After much argument and teary yells on her side, they resignedly let her follow her passion. The money was dumped in a bank account and she balanced coursework along with skating. Except that instead of day-to-day classroom studies, she just turned in assignments, burned the midnight oil truck before test week and after graduation, the choice was hers.</p><p>Life was hers. </p><p>The skating was a god-given gift , the weightless rush on the ice, the homeostasis in the rink, protected by the semi-permeable boundary around the ice, Alex muses, as she'd constantly travel to compete. </p><p>And now she's back in her hometown, the gulls squalling and sun setting like it always did. </p><p>She turns, the scenery imprinted in her head, black hair flaring orange with the sun striking it perfectly, when a hand clamps on her shoulder </p><p>.    .    . </p><p>Alex tenses, peeking behind. Montoya is looking at her.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing here ?" </p><p> </p><p>"Nothing !" Alex replies, caught off by the sudden appearance of the cop. </p><p>"Nothing… Nobody…Does every word you say start with no ?" Crispus smiles as he comes up beside her. </p><p>Alex's eyes widen, "The cops on the street." </p><p>"Correct." Crispus nods, "What are you doing here ?" </p><p>"Truly nothing." Alex emphasizes , "I just came here to see the waves."</p><p> </p><p>"Do you come here often ?" Montoya asks. </p><p>"Not really." </p><p>"Well, don't." She asserts grimly. "People die at the docks." </p><p> </p><p>"Is that why <em> you're </em>here ?" Alex raises her brow. Renée stares at the girl, a couple of years younger than her, her locks astray in the zephyrs. </p><p>"You could say that." Crispus replies, discreetly nudging his partner. When she finally deigns to look at him, he emphasises  "Something we should go work on, instead of <em> sightseeing </em>." </p><p>Renée chokes.</p><p>Alex asks curiously , "Who's the vic ?" </p><p>"A snitch. Body dumped in the river." Allen informs. </p><p>Alex furrows her eyebrows, "Who do you think did it ?" </p><p>"Jim Gordon."  Montoya informs, tucking her hands in her coat pockets, her slender fingers brush the smooth metal of the hairpin. </p><p>"The hero cop." Alex remembers the T. V news and the blondie she met at the hotel "Good luck, guys." </p><p> </p><p>Crispus nods farewell. Alex starts to walk away and a hasty cry fills her ears, "Wait." </p><p> </p><p>Montoya fast-walks to her, her hand grabbing something from her coat pocket. "<em>Here.</em>" </p><p>Alex looks at her hand, the white hairpin she's been searching for,  lies there. "Where did you.." </p><p>"It was lying on the sidewalk. It must have fallen off when you caught me." Montoya stands awkwardly, her other hand behind her back. "Thanks for that." She says it in one awkward mouthful. </p><p>Alex smiles, "No problem, Monty." She closes her fingers around the hairpin, gently taking it. "Also, thanks for keeping it safe. See you around." </p><p> </p><p>Montoya stares after Alex walking away, itching to keep on talking. Maybe she should have talked about their skating or maybe about her work… Or <em> something.  </em></p><p> </p><p>"<em> Monty </em>?" Renée looks abruptly at Crispus. </p><p>He has a smug smirk etched permanently on his face. </p><p>. . . </p><p>Alex cuts through the ice, navigating swiftly. The wind brushes her face as she jumps, spinning circles in the air , landing on the back edge of her blade. </p><p>Gliding throughout the arena, her muscles are heated, her comfy clothes ruffling slightly. She goes along with the fast beats of the recording playing on Io's phone, the device held carefully as he moves alongside her, taking notes. </p><p> </p><p>"Lift the knees higher and you'll get that height on your jumps." </p><p> </p><p>"Can we try the butterfly again ?"  Io nods, his phone slipping in his chain-lined pocket. </p><p> </p><p>"Alright. Let's try." </p><p>Alex smiles happily. </p><p>A minute later, the smile is wiped off, cold footed, Alex swallows. Io pats her shoulder encouragingly, "Keep yourself horizontal, try to have your upper body shift up to build for the jump's momentum nicely." </p><p>Alex nods, and starts skating. </p><p>Alex performs the mohawk, momentum gained through a 360-spin, and then she dips gracefully, and then comes the jump. </p><p>Feet kicking up, suspended in air with her arms in an elegant curve that helps, and for a moment Alex sees the blurry ice as she's parallel with it, wholly horizontal. </p><p>And then she lands on one skate blade, whipping across the rink wide-eyed. </p><p>Io smiles, clapping. </p><p>And Alex crows in ecstasy, her black hair flowing behind like a racehorse's mane as she goes to him. </p><p>"<em> Did you see that? Did you see what I did? </em>" She half-shouts joyfully. </p><p>Io nods, then a steely determination comes in his eyes and he says, "How about we move on to the step sequence? </p><p>. . .</p><p><em> " </em>Are you sure, Boss?" Butch asks.  Fish traces the rim of the goblet filled with liquor. </p><p>"If Falcone finds out what you're about to do, he won't be happy." </p><p>She spares a glance towards the creased newspaper. The article is vague and promising information. Valuable information. Information that she won't wait for. </p><p>She turns to her right hand, "Yes, Butch, he won't. " She says with a smile, her expression thirsty.</p><p>"Find her," A glamorous finger rises, "But be careful." </p><p>.  .  . </p><p>Oswald limps into the ice arena. Scaring off every passerby with his ferocity, he quickly locates her. </p><p>She's floating on ice. </p><p>He watches, as she dances. </p><p>Her body leaps through the air, hands pressed to her chest as she spins. Her lithe figure angelic. </p><p>Oswald stares eagerly at her from a shady alcove, the smile on her face, her black locks curled up in a pragmatic updo beautified with a flowery pin. She's doing a step sequence, turning around, tilted on one skate, then the other and back. Oswald looks on carefully as she executes the complex moves flawlessly.. until she falls. </p><p>A quick slip, and she's on the ice on her back, cringing. Oswald limps forward in surprise, a tall redhead has instantly skated forwards to help her up. </p><p>Oswald strokes his jacket , watching as she gets up, scolded listlessly by Io, much to her chagrin. </p><p>Oswald approaches the wall, and clears his throat , sighing when she doesn't look at him. He calls out her name loudly. </p><p>Alex spots him, surprised, almost slipping even. She skates toward him, hoping desperately that he didn't see her klutzy fall. </p><p>The knowing glint in his eyes tells her otherwise.</p><p> </p><p>They stare almost uneasily at each other, anxious of what the other will say. He's quite lost, honestly, on how to break the proverbial ice. </p><p> </p><p>She tries carefully, throwing fear out on the ice , "Penguin." </p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head, blue-green eyes straight ahead. The nickname seems to increase the discomfort in them both. "My name is Oswald Cobblepot." He smiles, a little more than politely. </p><p> </p><p>Alex ducks her head so, grateful that he doesn't mention the slip. "Oswald." She pronounces , eyes flicking to see him. He's still smiling. </p><p>"Alexandra Warlock." She says proudly, thrusting her hand in front like an olive branch. He takes it, her frozen fingers thawing by the body heat, "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Warlock." </p><p> </p><p>She reddens fiercely when he bows respectfully and kisses it. </p><p> </p><p>He smirks, her flustered face stroking his ego, "You've been placed in my charge as per my patron's request, "The gentleman in him cringes at how objectifying his words are. </p><p>"You'll be seeing me weekly." He finishes. </p><p>"Huh." She deadpans. </p><p>He raises his brows, the small smile once again his face. She shrugs, "I don't like impatient assets." </p><p> </p><p>His curiosity grows further.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Aren't you daring ?  </em>
</p><p>"What ?" She smiles defiantly. Oswald's eyes illuminate a dangerous amusement that she curls up inside, all shivery. </p><p>Her nose starts feeling slightly discomforted in the standstill cold, Alex sniffs as her hand comes up to cover it. </p><p>Oswald offers his silk handkerchief. Alex rubs her runny nose on it, emitting a honk. </p><p> </p><p>A laugh escapes him. Alex blushes, further embarrassed . Oswald smiles. </p><p>She returns the sprayed textile, folding it and placing it back in his upper coat pocket. He quietly stands as she does. His pale eyes filled with mirth at her cheekiness. </p><p> </p><p>"Are you staying today ?" She asks hopefully.</p><p>"Not long." He admits.</p><p>She nods in understanding, "Don't leave without telling, okay?" Alex asks softly. </p><p>"I won't." </p><p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry, but i haven't felt the title giving come to me yet.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The afternoon sun today cast its blessings on the rink, beams reflecting from the cold glass panes to the icy floor, a creamy glow that flared the metallic blades skidding on ice. </p><p>An odd association was using the rink on the week's end. </p><p>"And then?" Alex asks, stopping her skates to look at them. Crispus grins, "Then Renée kicked his ass, on the street." </p><p>Alex grins, "So, the drug cartel was shut down after all?" </p><p>"Yeah, we rounded up every guy after their code was cracked." The pride in his voice was evident. </p><p>"And then you shut down all the dealers ?" She pivots around casually. </p><p>Montoya stumbles slightly on her own skates, grabbing Allen. They stand in one corner of the arena, today it's open for the public. A handful of kids have shown up with their parents, zooming and falling. A few couples skate, hand in hand, laughing. </p><p>Alex glides around the corner, the elegance swan-like. </p><p>"No, upper authorities handled that." Crispus mutters. </p><p>"The Commissioner?" Alex asks dryly before pushing her legs apart and zooming around, out of earshot. </p><p>They watch, as she begins to bend her upper body, her skates facing sideways as she becomes parallel with the ice, completing the cantilever.</p><p>She holds that position for a few seconds before her balance crashes and she falls on her back on the slippery ice. </p><p>Crispus fearlessly skates forward and lends a hand. Montoya looks down again at her own feet, standing safe and alone against the wall. </p><p>Smiling proudly, Alex gets up. "That looks like hard work." Allen notes. She nods, moving towards Renée.</p><p> </p><p>"You've been like that for the past fifteen minutes, Monty." Alex says.</p><p>"I don't know, Warlock. Looks like she's been frozen there since morning." Crispus laughs. </p><p>Renée gives him the stare. Which he promptly ignores like a good partner. </p><p>"It's really not that hard." Alex offers her gloved hands. Montoya stands awkwardly. Alex gently moves forward, enveloping their hands and skating backwards.</p><p>"You're as stiff as a creaky board." Alex muses.</p><p>"Creaky geriatric board." Allen snickers. Renée glares lasers at him, wobbling in effort. </p><p>"Bend your knees, okay?"</p><p>Montoya gives a nod, she's down enough that Alex's neck doesn't have to crane to look up at her. </p><p>They move slowly, Alex anchoring Renée as she takes her time. It feels new… and in an odd way, safe.. </p><p>Because when she trips, Alex instantly steadies her. </p><p>"There you go." Alex lets go and Montoya moves around for a while, looking at her for reassurance. Crispus grins as he skates around gorgeously, impossibly good at balance.</p><p>For a moment, Renée relaxes, the snitch's case forgotten as she finds something in life different from work and Barbara. </p><p>. . . </p><p>Penguin is shoved into the comfortable upholstered seat. He blinks several times after the bag is removed to see the room properly, his kidnappers leaving in an orderly fashion. Falcone sits in front of him. A tray of steaming tea and bread in front of him, lying untouched. </p><p> </p><p>His severe expression is a change from the calm demeanour he usually shows. </p><p>"Don Falcone." Penguin's voice comes out jittery and small. </p><p>Carmine gazes, "Is it true?" He asks clearly. "Did Maroni bring Alexandra Warlock here to win?" </p><p><em>Alex</em>. He thinks, Alex is suitable for her more than the full moniker. Penguin looks up to meet the ruler's listless eyes. </p><p>"Yes, but-" </p><p>Falcone holds up a hand, "I'm going to ask once," He states, austere. "Why didn't you tell me?" </p><p>"I-I didn't think it really-" He stammers. </p><p>Falcone once again silences him, "It's not like Maroni to play a long term strategy, don't you know that?"  </p><p>"I told you about that!" Oswald gestures with his hand haphazardly, his temper getting the best of him. </p><p>"You didn't tell me her name." Falcone says gravely. "Tell me everything. Now."</p><p>Penguin nods anxiously, "Yes sir." He begins the tale. </p><p>. . .</p><p>Later that evening… </p><p>A sudden smile bursts on her face as Alex runs clumsily up the stairs, her stocking-clad ankles morose after ballet class. </p><p>Tomorrow's a Thursday.</p><p>Her fingers grip the slanting balustrade, hoisting herself up and on the moony square space alit with eventide rays , smile dropping at the next round of feet torture. </p><p> </p><p>But ballet is ballet, and you have to do ballet. A skating tour de force is a dream steadily made real by endless pirouettes and grand jeté attempts and exercises at the 3-Quarter ballet class. </p><p>So this staircase is <em>nothing</em>, Alex echoes confidently as she crawls up. </p><p><em>Lies</em>.. Alex groans as she reaches the second floor, a gloomy sight the unwanted greeting. </p><p>There's a dripping calendar on the wall, above the sagging lemon lime dracaena, it's brown leaf tips are more prominent than yesterday, and the calendar's sniffing droplets on the leaves. </p><p>Alex grins again as she remembers the tiny detail that has kept her excited.</p><p>She's going to see Oswald tomorrow. </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>Falcone stares, unapproachable. Penguin finishes his story. </p><p>He raises his eyebrows up and down, pale countenance demanding answers, "And ?" </p><p>Carmine rests his wizened hands on the white napery, giving none. "Keep checking in on her. " </p><p>Penguin's teal eyes widen, "Why?" </p><p>"Trust me. Keep an eye on her." Falcone delivers.</p><p>Oswald walks himself out of the mansion. His mind races as he calculates what this new player has that has got the two rival mobsters wary. </p><p>Wary enough to keep her under his eye. </p><p>… </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The sun comes out and tomorrow is today… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Oswald." Alex greets, zipping her bag open as she sits down next to him.</p><p> </p><p>"Hello."</p><p> </p><p>He glances at her for a moment, posture relaxed as she rummages in her bag. Her long hair is down, free from any braiding. </p><p>She sneaks a glance at his silent self. Dressed neat and sharp, shiny raven hair placed in meticulous spikes on his pale forehead. She distractedly places her covered skates in the bag.</p><p> </p><p>Oswald stares at the ice, unconscious of the world, the sudden reveals of the aged crime boss haunting him. </p><p> </p><p>Maroni asked him firmly to keep an eye on her. Falcone demanded her to be surveyed. </p><p>
  <em>Why ? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What is about this flying little creature that keeps everyone alarmed? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She's sitting next to him, sipping water from her bottle, the maroon bag lies open on the ground. </p><p>Luckily he still had the upper hand, as he was the only one with access to her.</p><p>His eyes skim over the sagging portmanteau burdened with her belongings.</p><p>Gray terrycloth for the blades, a plastic receptacle for CDs, spare tights and jacket folded next to a pair of pink slippers, an ISU rulebook..then he comes across a stocked tissue box and his lips purse, eyes narrowing. </p><p> </p><p>He bores holes into the tissue box, upset with it replacing his superior handkerchief.</p><p>Alex's eyes widen at his forlorn inspection of her innocent suitcase. She thereupon clears her throat in an attempt to save her belongings from Oswald's scowl, stifling a wince as his eyes instantly dart to their next target, which is her. </p><p>His inexplicable miffiness drains and an awkward look comes by. Alex raises her brows in a soundless query. </p><p> </p><p>He gives a quick nod and a rumble echoes from his larynx before he points randomly at the leathery victim. "What.." He looks at the chosen object, groaning when he recognises them. "Are those ?"</p><p> </p><p>"Pointe shoes." Alex states, she shoots him a look, knowing full well that those were not the why as to why the portmanteau stirred his irritation. </p><p>He holds them in his hands, gaze firmly focused on them. His fingers trace the ribbons, the palest tone of pink, the edges burnt to soap orange. Pragmatic stitching on the inside of the slippers.</p><p>"Why?" He asks to break the silence, but hoping for something else too. She is already thinking of him as a knucklehead, he might as well use the underestimation. </p><p>Alex shrugs, "Off-ice training is pretty <em>priceless</em> to figure skating.<em>.</em>" He nods once. </p><p> </p><p>She stares a few ticks, before saying, "My mother was a ballerina, she wanted me to do ballet." There's a bare note of bitterness, so he shares a small bit of his own back story to get her to reveal the details he couldn't find in the dossier. </p><p>Oswald glances at her, remembering the proud smile of his mother as she'd shown him her only pair of ballet slippers, pale-pink similar to this one , however, those shoes had collapsed from wear and tear. Mother kept them as a fond memory. </p><p> </p><p>"My mother wanted to dance." Oswald cradles the slippers a little too tight. His face is in a sullen pout, brows brought together, mouth tugged down. </p><p>"She had the talent," Oswald says, a bittersweet smile on his face, "But life didn't favour her, she was forced to turn to the culinary arts." He huffs out a breath at his mother's unfulfilled desire, forgetting about everything else. </p><p>Alex smiles softly, placing her chin on her hands as she leans forwards, he stares, confused. </p><p>"Then why didn't you dance to fulfill her dreams?" She asks cheekily, Oswald is taken aback as the traumatizing image of himself in a tutu floods his mind. </p><p>He flinches visibly, that would have been a worse career than being Fish's umbrella boy, and having to massage her feet. </p><p>Alex taps on his patella thrice, he looks up at her, further disoriented. "Hey, I was just jesting. Although, I'm sure you would have made a wonderful danseur noble."</p><p>She smiles at him cheekily. </p><p>But his insecurity crawls up, draping itself over him instead of the halted chill the rink always has. His disjointed ankle stiffens painfully , it had already been uncomfortable with the cold. </p><p>Defensive snark growls in his throat ready to strike, but she once again bewilders him with her tuneful voice saying clearly, "I know you have your own ambition."</p><p> </p><p>He stares blankly at her, speechless, blaming the cold dry air for the hitch in his throat. </p><p> </p><p>"I did master the basic german folk dances as per her wishes." Oswald rasps, his eyes gleaming as he foolishly looks down and sees her curled fingers still resting on the knee of his twisted leg. Alex flushes, sucking in a breath, and instantly moves, opting at the last second to relieve his hands of the forgotten dancewear.</p><p>He too, shoves them forward to her hurriedly and their hands brush. And their first meeting has overridden his thoughts, and the only registered thought in his mind is that her fingers are soft. </p><p>The contact is cursory, and she nervously grasps the shoes while he just stares at her. Her hair falls all over her face as she bends down to place them back, hiding her expression. </p><p>Oswald stares while she isn't looking , gleaning information from this entity is going to be impossible. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I'm excited for the next one!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Montoya sighs irritably at Crispus's bickering, deftly shoving the dog-eared photo of Jim Gordon, Homicide Detective, part time Cobblepot's murderer, inside her lined blue pocket. </p><p>Her fingers feel for the ornamentallic pin, a soothing agent she'd caress now and then, only to push against the cushy space it left behind, now tangled in lush threads that mostly likely are now in a sleek coiffe. </p><p>"You can't keep pushing this, Renée!" Crispus stresses. </p><p>… </p><p>Oswald smirks , seeing the two MCU cops fighting each other in the courthouse's empty hall, like an old married couple. He eyes the camera on the ceiling corner, grinning as he shuffles towards the office rooms of the worn justice brick pile. </p><p>Montoya purses her mouth and looks away. Crispus sighs, "Major Crimes is closing this in two days." </p><p>"So we find something before that." Montoya pointedly shoots back. </p><p>"How do you expect us to do that ?" </p><p>"The docks.." Monty begins, raising her voice as Crispus argues. </p><p>… </p><p>Penguin chuckles at the two cops' endless squabbling on the screen. They've squandered more than a fortnight, driven by the desire to bring Jim Gordon to justice for his sins. </p><p>If only they were greater than deceiving his fellow policemen. </p><p>A sudden replenish in their wilting conversation makes him perk up and listen. </p><p>Crispus smiles cheekily and whispers, "You call her yet ?"</p><p>Renée stares at him, mortified. "What ?" Her body visibly tenses , feet rooted so disgracefully that he rolls his eyes at her foul posture. </p><p>Oswald sighs at the computer displaying the blushing teen and her bestie. </p><p>"Come on, Renée. You've been dreaming about her for the past week." </p><p>Detective Montoya turns red and fidgets, "No." She confesses. </p><p>"You have to try to succeed , Monty." He reminds. </p><p>Oswald reaches for the exit button on the keyboard, weary of the two. What Crispus Allen says next freezes him. In hopes of cheering Renée up, he tries, "Just ask her out, Alex is a nice girl." </p><p>Oswald inches closer to the scene, increasing the volume in frantic presses as his widening eyes fixate on the screen. </p><p>"And she is very pretty." Crispus flashes his pearly teeth, gleaming against his pink mouth. Montoya splutters, "She's 23!" </p><p>"And maybe you'll look at this case a lot calmly when you realise that you don't need Barbara Kean's lifestyle to be happy…" Crispus speaks on. </p><p>Oswald's eyes have glued themselves to the screen </p><p><em>Alex</em>. He mouths. Fingers clenching around the small mouse device.</p><p><em>His Alex ?</em> </p><p>Oswald stares at the MCU cop, eyes gleaming viciously . </p><p>
  <em>How dare she-</em>
</p><p>Thoughts flood his mind, fast paced and unreasonable. </p><p>If envy hadn't momentarily wracked his mind, he might have realised that his thoughts, however passionate, weren't matching the supposed emptiness he'd been instilling in his quaking heart.</p><p>Monty looks down at the heavy maroon carpet rolled out on the floor."Maybe." She says, the small hopefulness not missing Oswald's ears, neither her partner's it seems, as he smiles encouragingly. </p><p>Oswald stares, eyes bright-blue and sparkling, as he watches the two walk out of the camera's vision. His thinly concealed rage frightening the novice assistant, who walks into the room.</p><p>…</p><p>"Monty." Alex grins , taking her seat in front. The diner is full to the floor and ceiling, all the customers are munching and sipping as they chatter on about their lives. </p><p>Christopher, the drug addict that runs the joint, lets out a loud sigh as he goes in the backroom to get Alex's meal, spotting her small frame through the demanding throes. </p><p>Monty sips her coffee, the juxtaposition of the bitter bean-powder and spoonfuls of the fluffy cream floating on top, making it a thin moreish drink. </p><p>"So, how's your case going ?" Alex takes her eyes off the crowd , casually making a note of the exits, one near the classic red jukebox and the other slightly more far away at the back . </p><p> </p><p>"Found a witness." Monty informs, remembering their conversation with the broke piscator. "We've got a judge signing the warrant soon."</p><p>"Congratulations, Monty." Alex beams, "At least, the poor victim will have justice." She says, thinking about the sans name soul. She would have asked details, but Monty's exuding hesitancy like an odor. </p><p> </p><p>Alex holds up her water, "To solving mysteries." She toasts and Monty hides a smile. </p><p>They clink glasses, drinks sloshing in their receptacles before spilling down their throats. </p><p>"How's everything at the rink?" Monty asks quietly, the new rumour in town reached the careful ears of the MCU today, it threw little spotlight on the skater. </p><p>Alex muses, having an inkling of Monty's troubled thoughts as she studies her. "Breezy." </p><p>Monty's brows go up casually, "How's that ?" </p><p>Before she can reply, Christopher ungracefully sets the plates down, boring holes into Alex's skull. "Thank you, Christo." She says, flashing a small smile. He just glares. </p><p>Renée stares at her, she sits at ease in the presence of a high-ranking cop, </p><p>"Everything's working out okay." Alex offers. </p><p>"Your sponsors are criminals." Monty asserts quietly. </p><p>"I think of them as bumbling businessman bees that wandered into the wrong icy greenfield." Alex deadpans. "But yes, criminals they are." </p><p>Renée stifles a smile, "Why them, then?" </p><p>"Come on, Monty." Alex grins, her orbs glinting. "What I do is costly, and what better guy should pay the price than mobsters who don't understand it ?" </p><p>Alex's insides revolt when she thinks about the Italian mobster, she was caught off guard when she met him. </p><p>The sudden car ride with her vision obscured had removed the loam on the memories she'd buried. </p><p>Monty nods hesitantly. </p><p>When they haul ass out of the diner, Christo breathes out a sigh of petty relief. They part ways sometime later, Alex wishes her luck on catching the cop. Renée nods, Crispus is overseeing the procedure, something she should go help with. </p><p>Monty uneasily walks away, somehow the whole ordeal of Jim Gordon and the snitch  doesn't sit right with her. </p><p>When Renée looks back for a second to see Alex for the last time, as her laced-up shoes were soundless as Alex traversed through the cracked pavement, the detective is unable to find her, she's disappeared into the streets. </p><p>… </p><p>Fish Mooney sips the full glass, sashaying over to the convulsing man ruining the floor of her club. </p><p>"You couldn't find a little girl for me ?" She places her hand on her hips, the man's eyes stream and he cries out, "She's hidden!" </p><p>Butch signals the goons to let the man go as he crawls over to her feet, begging for forgiveness. </p><p>Fish presses her heel, hard into his hands, making him scream. </p><p>"I told you..this was important." She warns, "You didn't listen." She delicately tastes the fruity wine, her dark lashes brush her face as she closes them, the man's tormented screams and the wine's flavours wash over her. </p><p>Butch looks to her for further command. The bleeding failure sobs at Fish's legs, begging , and that's the last straw. </p><p>Her eyes shine dangerously, rage unleashing and the goblet comes crashing down on his head, soaking his hair with redness.</p><p>Fish grips the jagged stem of the glass, gingerly placing it on the table. She looks at the limp crimson figure sprawled on the floor. </p><p>"Clean up." She says to Timothy, he bows servilely.</p><p>"And the guy?" Butch asks. </p><p>"<em>Slowly</em>." She smiles demurely, moving away to find the damn girl herself. </p><p> </p><p>… </p><p>"What is it? " Gertrud Kapelput asks heavily. She strokes her son's arm, he's been looking so upset all afternoon. He didn't even praise her tea, Oswald just took a sip of the creamy vanilla-flavoured drink, smiled at his mother, before falling back into his sulking. </p><p> </p><p>"Nothing, mother." He looks up and smiles forcibly, conflicted eyes betraying him. "Oswald." She scolds, as he again looks down, "Tell your mother what's wrong." </p><p>Oswald sighs internally, of course his inattentive brooding nature would catch his mother's eye. </p><p> </p><p>She was so upset with him for disappearing for so long, and now his thought-consumed careless behaviour has only fueled her suspicions. </p><p> </p><p>"Just business." He smiles, holding her hand before she can say anything. Gertrud smiles as he finally gives her his undivided attention. "Who has upset my poor boy ?" She asks</p><p>"Some friends, they're making things difficult for me." He answers carefully. "I can't stop them, somehow the boss doesn't care about it." He frowns sadly, looking at her. </p><p>"So use what they're doing against them. She pronounces, hoping to cheer him. </p><p>Oswald raises his brows, smiling gratefully at his mother, as an idea blossoms in his head. </p><p>He declines supper later, his mother worriedly looks at his exiting form. Her Oswald has been so busy these days. </p><p> </p><p>Penguin hurries down the streets of Gotham, he enters the precinct quick enough. The setting sun casts flaring golden shadows around the cluttered room. Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock are shouting, Montoya and Allen are there as well. </p><p>Captain Essen is shouting , he interrupts her perfectly. And as he introduces himself, Montoya's eyes widen. </p><p>He turns his head straight at her, her bewildered lost expression, as she stares at him makes him laugh. </p><p>As Bullock lunges forward for Gordon, Allen comes to restrain them, Motoya just stares at the revived Oswald Cobblepot chuckling, looking straight at her.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Time is of the essence these days.. Sorry for the tardiness, guys.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Is he even doing anything?" Fish says delicately, her turquoise cocktail dress reflects an amber from the restaurant's lighting. </p><p>It's as déshabillé as ever, with the straps taut against her collarbone and her cleavage a shimmery bronze. </p><p>She's poised in a calm stance, but her fury slips sometimes, with her irises fixated hungrily on Penguin, her nails' tips tearing the tablecloth like it was his whitened skin. </p><p>She would strike if the tables didn't turn. Unfortunately for Fish, Bamonte's cardinal-covered tables had a sedentary existence. </p><p>Penguin's jaw tightens as he maintains his place, perched beside Maroni. The vicious satisfaction that laughed out when thinking of Fish's shocked face turns to a burning rage of desire to shoot the bitch dead and bleeding. </p><p>"I can't believe this little wimp," Fish murmurs. "Can be of any use." She meets his cold pupils, daring. </p><p>Maroni smiles sympathetic, "See, that's where you're wrong, Penguin's a fine friend. A loyal friend." The Don teases. </p><p>Penguin smiles as Maroni praises him , "He manages this place, even took over our skating program." </p><p>Fish raises her brows, painted nails raking against the table-cloth, "Oh my." </p><p>.  .  . </p><p>Alex runs up the black steps of the staircase,, out of breath as she pushes herself onto the seventh floor and towards her newest room. </p><p>She got out of the Royal Hotel in favour of a more frugal livelihood at a faded rent room, appreciatively much closer to the centre. </p><p>Alex swings the door open, happily entering her room. </p><p>Oddly enough she doesn't find the unwanted presence immediately. </p><p>. . . </p><p>Oswald smirks as he sees his phone buzzing. . . Jim Gordon's called.</p><p>"Jim!" He says, a toothy smile changing his</p><p>face. Everytime the dear detective calls, Oswald giggles at the righteous prick, who denied the choppy darkness at the pier not so long ago, now fooling himself to talk to Oswald about since the circumstances made it so. </p><p>"My dear friend." Oswald says in a sweet staccato, leaning casually on an unoccupied chair in the closed restaurant.</p><p>There's a creaking on the other side, a schink of hinges as a door bangs. Jim must have moved somewhere private in the precinct. </p><p>"Do you need my help? I'm happy to assist." He continues eagerly. After a short spell of silence in which the detective hesitates, his desperation wins out. "I need a favour." Jim harshly says. </p><p>"Of course, if you manage to live through your upcoming confrontation with Victor Zsasz.." Oswald says readily, smiling. </p><p>"What..?" Jim hisses. </p><p>The revelation of the assassin about to visit the GCPD in seconds, coupled with dread that he now owed Penguin a costly favour, caused blood to piston-pump though his river-blue veins. </p><p>Oswald smiles into the phone, "Meet me at the Des Monstre Alley.. if you're familiar ?" </p><p>Jim doesn't reply, Oswald finishes their lovely chat. "See you there." He hangs up with a wink, and a stifled chuckle fills the perfumed air. </p><p>. . . </p><p>Butch smiles as he sees the girl - who's been leading him and Fish on a wild goose chase on Gotham's clueless hoteliers - gingerly place her shoulder bag on the rack, taking off her blue flats. </p><p>Fish finally found her today. It took the motive of seeing Penguin alive and well to just look so hard, that the skater was located. They busted the crimp that housed the two sailor boys who'd given her a ride to the city. </p><p>Just a little cash, and they found the badass. "Thought you'd already be here." He smiles at her. She jumps at the voice, turning to locate its owner. </p><p>Alex backs up into the table, discreetly opening the drawer, he chuckles at her decent but all-in-all useless attempt. </p><p>"Looking for this?" He points it straight at her. She swallows, "You searched my room ?" </p><p>He shakes his head disappointedly, "C'mon kid. It's Gotham." Butch shrugs, "People stalk their relatives for kicks."</p><p>"You're here to kill me ?" She asks loudly, loudly. </p><p>"No." He says, "A certain somebody wants to see you, I'm here as an escort." </p><p>"And if I don't want to be escorted somewhere ?" Alex asks defiantly, raising herself to her full height of 5'4 feet, then cheating by standing on the point of her toes. </p><p>Butch looks amusedly at her, "Let's just-" He's cut off by a harsh kick in the crown jewels , falling to his knees as pain rushes through his groin. </p><p>She yanks the gun away from his hand, he grabs her ankle as she turns, making her shriek as she stumbles , Alex turns and shoves her free foot into his temples. </p><p>Then stomps on his hand for good measure before running off. </p><p>Butch grunts in burning pain and clutches his phone, dialing a number in clumsy taps, "She's down the hall, Timothy." He groans out. </p><p>Penguin snags the newspaper off the stand, filled with the tweets and chirps of the city. He scans the bold text, skimming over the mayor's stunts.</p><p> </p><p>The sun is gone, just gray clouds waving bye by the wind, which brushes the cool blacktop and rifles through the papers. Juggling the fallen leaves as it sees fit and tugging greedily on the greens. </p><p>There's a fabricated article featuring Arkham's apt rehabilitation programmes for the heinous madmen locked up in the crumbling edifice, blasé praises printed on the lower ends of the page. </p><p>He lets it fall back with a rustle down on the stack, looking around for the detective. The MCU's car is smashing down the alley. </p><p>Penguin's expression tightens, he quickly shuffles toward it. Gordon stumbles out, his reddening sleeve punctured from Zsasz's trademark bullet. </p><p>"Jim." </p><p>He looks disgruntled and crappy.</p><p>Montoya comes out, steadying her fellow cop. Her eyes flit over to see the snitch, surprised to see his gaze trained on her, coldly looking down. </p><p>Penguin limps over to her, she's taller than him, and Oswald glares up at her for a second, mouth pursed and eyes gleaming </p><p>As Renée opens her mouth, he looks away, an eerie grin lighting up his face as he chatters, ignoring her. </p><p> </p><p>"If you'll all get back inside , I will share the directions to the safe house." He smirks, head tilted, glancing at Gordon. </p><p>The detective stumbles back into the monochromatic car seat. Montoya walks to the passenger door, before Oswald appears, a hand on the latch. </p><p>His eyes are reflecting the white beams of the sun, face brittled into a glare. "Detective, seat yourself in the back. And try to look after Jim instead of trying to place him behind bars." </p><p>Montoya's jaw clenches, the brat. </p><p>Gertrud Kapelput's proud face flashed in her mind, how she'd gushed about her handsome brilliant son and his achievement. They hadn't told her about his mobster lifestyle or his supposed death , both silently agreeing to not break the mother's heart. </p><p>His deceiving methods, him using her and Crispus to try and push out Fish, and merrily showing up the GCPD, now flaunting her worthless investigation, is enough to make her temper rise. </p><p>She opens her mouth, eyes cold and drift-wood dark. But he's already opened the car door, shuffling and stumbling inside before she could snap.</p><p>
  <em>Coward. </em>
</p><p>His grin is clearly visible, from the window screen. Montoya decides not to waste time, and calmly steps into the vehicle.  </p><p>. . . </p><p>Alex races down the hallway, the gun gripped tightly in both hands. Her eyes dart around the tainted walls, looking for the exit.</p><p>She turns the corner , her heart racing, her eyes widen as she notices a man out of her periphery.</p><p>In an instant, she pivots around him, a lifetime of controlling her every movement reaping rewards. He notices the gun pointed at him and raises his hands in surrender , "Lady, lady, <em>don't shoot</em>." </p><p> </p><p>"Who are you ?" She hisses. She's wearing a gauzy skin-toned skirt, strapped tee, and has stockings on her feet, if the gun didn't give her away, the ballerina clothes have, this is the girl Fish is looking for. </p><p> </p><p>Alex doesn't move to hurt him, but she doesn't point the firearm away either.</p><p>"I-I live here, okay?" Timothy fibs. "Room 6." He informs, jangling a key in front of her. She glances at it, her grip tightening and she snaps, "That's not-" </p><p>He lunges for the firearm, yanking at the barrel and Alex moves away, barely abstaining from pulling the trigger when he pounces. </p><p>He does so again, in a panicky stroke , and she beats him , spinning around and away, and she turns to offence. </p><p>A harsh footprint is on his back, and he trips over and falls to his knees. Alex tugs the gun away, kicking again when he claws at her. </p><p>A final swift move on the back of his skull and he collapses on the dust. </p><p>She hurdles back, inhaling quietly. She clicks off the safety and aims the handgun away from him. He doesn't see it, freezing at the mechanical tick that seemingly told the last breaths he had left. </p><p>Timothy buries his face in the floor, the floor's grime coating his sweaty skin and waits. </p><p>"Who-" She's cut off with a hitch and Timothy fliches. There's a pained groan and he looks from the floor to see Alex clutching her head, her fingers loosely press the gun's-barrel into her hair. </p><p>Butch strikes quickly, and she loses vision, succumbing to the obsidian haze and falling next to Timothy. </p><p> </p><p>"Fish is going to love hurting you." Timothy says, his back starting to ache as Butch nudges him harshly with a waxed shoe. </p><p>. . . </p><p>Oswald limps out of the safe house curtly , the sky has turned turbulent and dark clouds have hazed the ether up above, ready to rain. </p><p>He sighs heatedly in the cool green stretch, the world sure is in a mood today, unlike him. He'd effortlessly run off from Bamonte's, feeding Maroni the excuse of visiting the rink but instead he went and saved Detective Gordon from imminent death by the hands of a wrathful Fish Mooney.</p><p>The wounded cop now rests in a warm bed, watched over by Allen while Renée Montoya has gone to end the case against him once and for all. </p><p>Jim is going to wake up to find himself alive and burdened by a new set of problems. One of them being that he owes Penguin a favour. </p><p>Oswald shuffles to the trunk of the cop car, propping it open to filch an umbrella. </p><p> </p><p>Jim might wake up anxious and pained, but he is in a temporary haven. Oswald still has much work to do, including saving the detective from the Falcone crime family. </p><p>He's starting to wish that he'd just gone to meet a surprised Alex, but Jim couldn't save himself. </p><p>A small smile flits across his unconventional face, at the thought of the skater. She would have smiled warmly, a counter to the icy place she was constantly found in. </p><p>Oswald huffs out the cool air, walking over to the car hidden at the back of the safe house, the day has been tiresome and he never has the time or desire to think on such things. They only led to festering wounds. </p><p> </p><p>Maroni must be getting impatient by now, he'll have to appeal to his nature. </p><p>Doubtless, Fish is going to do something.</p><p>Oswald turns on the ignition, pressing down on the pedals and accelerates merrily, eager to concoct a plan to hurt Fish. </p><p>. . . </p><p> </p><p>"Wakey, wakey." Alex groans as she sees a blurry finger moving side-to-side in front of her. The purple nail is attached to a bony finger belonging to a brown-skinned redhead that smiles at her.</p><p>It's an unnerving expression, the beam promises much more than the plain vanilla joy. </p><p>It promises red. </p><p>Alex stretches her feet, only to find the ankles roped to a chair tightly, alarm registers in. Blood whoosing in her ears as she struggles, eyes landing uselessly on the blurry exit sign flashing a neon white. Her heart starts to pick up speed, as she desperately claws at the rope </p><p>The gorilla she kicked is nowhere to be seen. His hateful sidekick polishes a glass, near the bar, eyeing her.</p><p>Fish touches her cheek, her nails pressing. "Alex Warlock. You're a rare viesta."</p><p>Alex's head focuses down on her jostling ankles as she rapidly blinks at her tied form to clear off the dizziness. </p><p>"Flattered. Did you just nab me to look at me? Then you're a diehard fan." Alex says bitterly, ceasing the fight unwillingly as she realises what's happened. </p><p> </p><p>Fish tilts her head, scarlet spines on her forehead shifting. "No." The woman's zany strands are a different shade than Io's blazing curls; stylish and almost puffed unlike her coach's glossy mop.  </p><p>Huh. Alex thinks, when she stares into the piercing sheen of those hazy orbs. </p><p>She always felt that Io was intimidating, but this woman's not half bad herself.</p><p>But her dress is funny. A reptilian feline look in Alex's opinion. </p><p>It's an inane musing, but her brain's currently ready to light itself on fire - with the weary exhaustion , contusion and dizziness, not to mention the fact that she's been kidnapped and is now tied up chatting to a pernicious redhead, <em>so</em>, further absurdity is openly welcomed. </p><p> </p><p>She groans lightly when the woman pierces the contusion on her head with her nails, pain flaring in her head and vision hazing further . "Look at me. You've been fluttering away." </p><p>Alex squints at the lady, her face is shining, too bright. </p><p>Gold-eye makeup, fluffy headlights that look an awful lot like a wig, brown skin far too stark and polished for her age and a bewitching pair of hazel eyes. </p><p> </p><p>"My name is Fish Mooney." </p><p> </p><p>It's too much at once. </p><p>Her head drops again , groaning loudly and cutting off the rest of Fish Mooney's words. </p><p>Fish Mooney continues on, "Do you know why I've been forced to take you like this?" Her voice whispers sweetly and Alex's head is feeling like glacé, sticky with her words and suffocating on their overwhelming sensation. </p><p>"I'm hoping it's because you madly wanted to have dinner with me." Alex snaps , Fish tilts her head thoughtfully, mouth pressed casually. </p><p>"You shouldn't hope for something as lethal as that." Fish slowly nods at her. "You're here because of a little bird," Fish strikes smoothly , "A little Penguin." </p><p>Alex frowns, remembering the nickname. </p><p>"Oswald ?" </p><p>Fish becomes all fiendish smiles at the lost expression coating the skater's face. "Do you know anything about the wimp ?" She asks, eyes twinkling and amused. </p><p>"He manages the skating program for Maroni." Alex answers, lost. </p><p> </p><p>"And before the little snitch ran off to Maroni, he used to rub my feet."</p><p> </p><p>Alex's walnut eyes widen. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Witnessing of The Rain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this was long overdue , guys. its night where im here and the neighbors are fricking merry and loud. Im grumpy and hungry , I'll leave whoever was dumb enough to show to read this fic and gorge on some food .<br/>writer out the house- yeet!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maroni looks up from the champagne label to see the kitchen door being pushed open by Penguin. He looks jittery, the deathly pallor of his face even more prominent. </p><p>Usually when he returned timely from seeing the skater, this strange brightness would have settled on his face and he'd humbly give his basic opinions on the girl before running off to attend to other matters. </p><p>This time, neither that look was present nor had he been punctual. </p><p>Penguin says nervously, "Don Maroni, as always, pleasure to see you." He says, fixed near the doorway in his dislodged stance. </p><p>Maroni smiles shortly, "Come on time, have you ?"  Penguin's mouth falls open halfway as he forms words quickly, blue eyes blinking. </p><p>"Sir, I.." He scrambles to be in his good graces earnestly, "I was.." He continues dimly, frantically thinking of an excuse, </p><p>Dammit ! He forgot about Maroni! </p><p> </p><p>The mob boss snickers, his teeth bare in a smile. "Doing what ?"  His deep-set eyes seem to glean out all the thoughts running in Penguin's head. </p><p>He keeps swallowing down the spittle accumulating in his throat instead of words, finally focusing on an apology. </p><p>Maroni hears it sincerely, letting him off the hook with a warning to not keep him waiting again, and a knowing look that told Penguin that Maroni wasn't going to let it go too easy. </p><p>Frankie interrupts, striding in and nearly shoving Penguin as he goes straight to the don. </p><p>"The gun truck." He informs, "Those asses looted it." Maroni fires up instantly, slamming the champagne bottle straight into the ice bucket, cracking it as Penguin shrinks at the sound. </p><p>"What ?!" He shouts at his right-hand man, spewing Italian obscenities. "<em>Brutto figlio di puttano bastardo</em>!"</p><p>"How did they find out?!" He demands at Frankie, forgetting Penguin momentarily, the boiling pasta's steam blowing straight at Oswald in an unheeded warning, as he inches closer to the stove and away from Maroni, accidentally touching the hot steel and Penguin hollers as it burns him through the jacket. </p><p>Both are looking silently at him and Maroni asks, " You alright there?" Not caring for an answer, he continues on, turning to Frankie.</p><p>"Word on the street is, that Fish Mooney's goons took the cash and arms." Frankie relays. </p><p>"Penguin," Maroni questions, turning to him. His face shining in anger. "Any ideas to hit those ugly ex-brothers of yours back ?" Penguin smiles quickly, ignoring the burn on his arm, opening his mouth and Frankie interrupts again. </p><p>"Pay them off, boss?" </p><p>"<em> Yes, of course. The safest way to avoid further retaliation </em> ." Penguin intones. " <em> The Falcone clan still is number one, after all. </em>" He grins at Frankie's slacked jaw. </p><p>Maroni's eyes turn bitter, "<em> Screw safe. They push and think I'm gonna fold. I'll push right back, harder. Today! </em>" </p><p>Penguin smiles , glancing at Frankie with a gleam in his irises. "<em> If that's how you want to play it, I think I know just the spot to hit them </em>." </p><p>.    .    .   </p><p>Oswald steps back out sulkily into the main rooms followed by Frankie. He turns around   and leans against a table, smiling shortly. </p><p>Frankie places his hands on his hips, leather jacket stretching apart unattractively. "So, start talking about the-" He begins bluntly. </p><p>Oswald's jacket buzzes and he casually pulls out his phone , to see an unknown number flashing. </p><p>"Hello?" </p><p>The line is silent, and then a sharp gasp fills his head. A thud, and then that light sound repeats. In the midst of it all, Maroni has popped back in, exchanging a look with the clueless Mr. Carbone. </p><p>"Hello Penguin ." Fish coos, he narrows his eyes, tensing. </p><p>Maroni raises his eyebrows at his rigid figure. </p><p>"What do you want, Fish?" He hisses, fingers digging in the phone angrily. Fish Mooney? Maroni mouths at Frankie, he nods, incredulous. </p><p> </p><p>"You shouldn't be worrying about that, not when the little skater's life hangs from a tight, <em> tight </em>rope." Oswald's voice hitches , shock flowing through him. </p><p><em> Alex ? </em> </p><p>He laughs harshly, denial present and overwhelming. </p><p>"<em> Nice </em> try, but-" </p><p> </p><p>"Fine, hear her yourself." Fish interrupts and roughly presses the device against the girl's cheek. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey." Her soft voice comes through, his hands tremble , "Alex ?" His eyes are bright and crazed, trained at the floor uselessly, unaware of Maroni's gaze on him as he realizes what's happening to her. Before he can say further, there's a thud and a stifled cry of pain. </p><p>"<em> Alex </em> ?" He says desperately, pressing the phones close on his skin, a blind effort to be close to her. </p><p> </p><p>"There." Fish comes back, pouring herself a drink that doesn't drown the carrying sounds of pain that Timothy was wrenching from Alex. </p><p>"She's going to die now." A smile curves her crimson lips. Fish's eyes twinkle as she hears Penguin's frantic breaths. </p><p>"Fish, don't you dare-" He shouts wrathfully , the only answer he received was the whine of the line being cut off. </p><p> </p><p>Oswald breathes out in short bursts as he panics, he hadn't thought of her.</p><p>Why didn't he think of her ? </p><p>Damnit, Fish played a good game. With Gordon's everlasting troubles and now the problems with the gun truck, there is no time to find Alex. </p><p> </p><p>Oswald's hand clenches around the hateful flip-phone. And that's when Maroni's hand tightly holds him in place, rage dancing in his smoky eyes.</p><p>"Son of a.." The don fumes. Frankie stares, hostile. Penguin's hands shake, moving up in surrender. "Sir, I-" </p><p>"Didn't I say that you were supposed to keep her away from this ?!" He yells, shaking him by the shoulders. </p><p>Penguin shakes his head, feverish. "Sir, I didn't mean to-" </p><p>"To what?" Maroni growled. "To ruin everything cause ! " </p><p>"Boss." Frankie says, Maroni barely looks at him. "We need to hit back, right now." </p><p>Maroni grunts, "Gather the men." He says to Frankie, turning to Penguin. </p><p>"You damn well fix this." He nods calmly. "Or you'll end up in the river for good this time." </p><p>Penguin nods quickly, they both saunter out. And he instantly limp outside, desperately thinking. </p><p>He's standing outside, watching the rains fall as a ringing echoes in his ear. Trings of the phone, replaced by his other boss' voice. </p><p>"Yes ?" Falcone says quietly. </p><p>Penguin spills out the whole story, barely refraining from the snark accumulated inside him naturally like silt at riverbanks, because all he gets in reply is silence. </p><p> "Sir, we're ready." He repeats tetchily. "Maroni's men and I are about to raid the warehouse." </p><p>There's a split second, Falcone states, "Ensure Nikolai's death. I'll see to Miss Warlock."</p><p>Penguin nods many times, his blue eyes shined with something he didn't realise, "Yes, sir, yes."</p><p> </p><p>.  .  . </p><p>"Am I just here to die?" Alex finally says, feet pushing against their bounds anxiously. Alex swallows, thinking of Penguin. </p><p> </p><p>He used to be in Fish's employ. And he'd snitched on her to cops, in matters regarding the Wayne murders. Now he worked for Maroni, alive. </p><p> </p><p>This was a mess.</p><p> </p><p>Alex swallows, looking at the booth she was tied in, clasping her free hands together and avoiding Fish Mooney's gaze. </p><p>What was he doing right now, Alex thought hopelessly. Fish had called him a while ago, instructing Timothy to beat her during the call's duration. </p><p>She'd barely got to hear his high voice, he'd sounded shocked… and sad. And Alex badly wanted to see him. </p><p>Although she was taken hostage by Oswald's ex-employer, and the details of the why of why she was taken hostage, were still foggy. Cryptic and impassioned were the words that had fallen from Fish's lips as she'd told the tale. </p><p> </p><p>Fish looks at them with half-lidded eyes, full lips parting to reply, "No." </p><p> </p><p>"There's something…" Fish murmurs, "About you, that's a bit of a bother." Alex raises her brows casually. "I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well start talking." </p><p>Fish stares piercingly, she primly picks up a sheet, and waves it in front of Alex. </p><p> </p><p>It says, <em> perpetua veritas et azymus </em>. Just that. </p><p> </p><p>Alex breathes, and says, "Huh." Fish sashays forward, eyes shiny and manifesting impatience. </p><p>Alex swallows her irritation, knowing full well it could lead to trouble and concedes, "No, I don't recognize it."</p><p>"Pity. It would've been useful." She raises a finger, a snappy hiss and Timothy bounds forward. </p><p>"Burn it all." She presses the manila folder into his hands. </p><p>Alex memorizes ,<em> perpetua veritas et azymus. </em> Alex's jaw sets, irises turning to charcoal. She's bluffing, Alex thinks as Timothy walks upstairs and out of sight. </p><p>Fish nurses an empty glass in her hands, sitting down next to her in the booth.</p><p>"You're one of Penguin's itty-bitty assets.." Fish says, "But you are the most worthful," </p><p> </p><p>Alex stares in revulsion, form still. </p><p> </p><p>"Which is why he'll pay dearly when you die." Fish says and smashes the glass at the table's edge, Alex's face steels and she starts buckling against her binds, trying to avoid a hit in the abdomen. Fish drives the thin stem of the wineglass , straight into her wrist, slashing open flesh and artery.</p><p> </p><p>Alex feels pressure at first, then an impulse works and a jolt of pain rockets from her hand to head, screaming as her blood starts to flow out, staining the glass driven deep into flesh and deep into a vessel. </p><p>
  <em>The bitch lied. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>.  .  . </p><p>Oswald dials the number with a vengeance, his fingers smearing Frankie's blood at the phone, meanwhile Nikolai the Russian lies dead with bullets riddled in his chest. The two henchmen collect the moneybags a safe distance away.</p><p>"<em> It's taken care of, Sir </em>." He says, a wild light pouring out of his face. </p><p>"<em> Good </em> . <em> Alex Warlock is at Fish Mooney's club. </em>" Oswald's eyes widened, his black spikes shifted when he looked down at his knife. </p><p>"<em> Hurry up and stand outside the club. She'll come out alive. </em>" Oswald nods, already turning to see Gabe. </p><p> .  .  . </p><p>"Hey, boss." Butch enters the club, casually eyeing Alex's blood spots on the mopped wood.</p><p>"Any news ?" Fish asks. </p><p>Butch clears his throat , "Niko's dead. Penguin killed him and got the money back." </p><p>Fish's eyes remain the same, "Hm, did he ? That means he's desperate to please his boss." Fish says venomously, glancing at Alex's muted form, she coldly stares back.</p><p>Her fingers are pressed into the wound, she took out the shard and threw it at Fish, missing by an inch. </p><p>"Want me to shoot her?" Butch asks, pulling out his gun. Alex rolls her dried-up eyes, not wasting energy in begging. </p><p>Fish looks at her smoothly , "No, let her die like this. Then maybe send her icy, drained corpse back-" </p><p>"Enough." A calm tone cuts.</p><p> Alex dazedly looks up, her bloody wrist heavy and limp, dripping like a leaky pipe as a man, an old man dressed in chequered finery glances at Fish. </p><p>"Hello, my dear." </p><p>"Don Falcone." Her demeanor changes, the lieutenant takes a forward step with her dark arms outstretched in welcome, her heels making a clack. Butch stands stiffly , hesitant with the gun. </p><p>"You've been busy." </p><p>Her eyes open a wisp, red fingers slacking against the ruptured blood vessel. Her head lolls slightly as she turns to look at the man, his eyes glance at her for a second, unreadable, before he speaks, "Did I order you to do this ?" </p><p>"I had to, I'll destroy <em>every last one</em> of Penguin's assets before he dies." She accentuates, clenched. </p><p>"Did I ?" Carmine asks, unwavering. </p><p>Fish gazes on, her hazel eyes flat. </p><p>"No." The steely word incites a silence, Alex closes her hurting eyes, foxy veins have crept up all over the sclera. "Good. We'll talk of your deeds later." He looks at the still breathing form, walking to her. He holds up a hand in askance, "May I?" Alex nods, almost imperceptible. Whether he sees it or not, she's not sure but he touches her arm, examining the laceration. </p><p>But when he speaks, smooth blue eyes making contact with her bloodshot orbs,  ad his tone is calm. Almost soft. </p><p>"Yes. You'll live." And that's it, he turns away from her, letting her arm drop and looking at Fish's lackey. </p><p>Alex looks at him, struggling for clarity as she tries to focus on Falcone's face. There's something lurking in his eyes, something she feels she knows. </p><p>"Miss Warlock needs a hospital." He looks at Butch, who instantly puts away his gun, helping her up.</p><p>"Where, Sir ?" He asks clearly, mindful enough to not look at Fish. </p><p>"Penguin is outside. Escort Alex there."</p><p>Falcone orders and watches her refuse Butch's help, evading the henchman, to stagger out herself. </p><p>Her radial artery pressed down at the cut, giving life as she exits. </p><p>. . . </p><p>Light-headed relief flares in Oswald  as he finally <em> finally </em>sees Alex, her swaying form appearing into the streets, the torrential rains going on in the night mercilessly obscure her figure. </p><p>
  <em> She's safe.  </em>
</p><p>Alex stumbles down the wet steps hurriedly, Fish's bony sign glowing and casting light on her face, tear-trails cleansed away by the showers. He steps forward to her at the same time, an umbrella shielding him from the drizzle. </p><p>
  <em> And with him now. </em>
</p><p>Oswald smiles, his teeth shine in the dark empty street . "You're-" He's cut off as Alex falls on him, soaked form dripping on his. The air is full of pleasant rain. He's stunned and she pulls his free wrist upwards and sets carefully it on her own, he feels warm blood gushing out of her tender flesh, voice hitching at the realization. </p><p> </p><p>"Keep pressure there." She whispers, her mouth presses against his ear, before abandoning him, her limp form held in his shaky arms. </p><p>Horror blooms in him as he sees the crimson gash and the blood flowing down and coloring the cuff of his sleeve. </p><p>The only sounds are a high cry of her name and the wet umbrella falling on the streets, the downpour comes to the call, falling on them unhindered. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So what do you think?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex's charcoal orbs open to flinch at the white beam harshly falling on her perspiring face. She groans, mumbling Zut Alors! and pressing her wetting eyes close with her hands, only to feel one anchored feebly. </p><p>It's a hazy I. V. she blinks at, a thin needle dug in the back of her palm.</p><p>There's as slight shuffling, something grips her hurt hand and pulls it away. A blonde balding guy in a surgical white coat, clenches his stained gloves, Alex groans painfully; his fingers digging into a black fabric sheltering her wrist. </p><p>"Lie back down." He orders roughly, bespectacled vision trained on the stitched flesh. Alex ignores it, "Who are you ?" She croaks . </p><p>"I'm Doc. I'll call Penguin, okay ?" He says slowly, "Now lie back down." Alex narrows her eyes, "Where am I?" </p><p>"At 1548 Wilton. Couldn't get you to a hospital quick enough , so he got you to me." Doc explains. "I saved your life, now lie down." </p><p> </p><p>"I'll call Penguin." He interrupts her before she can say anything. Alex reluctantly lies back on the operating bed, she looks at herself and finds that the fabric is an unknown jacket that covers her. </p><p>Alex examines her wound, pushing a loose black sleeve up, nylon wire keeps the red skin closed but there's a throb when she moves it suddenly. </p><p>Alex watches the Doc dial a number, her fingers trace the stitches on her skin. Her head aches dully around the bruise, still tender and untreated. </p><p>The air is sharp and fills her nose with iodoform and faint blood-stench. </p><p>After he finishes his call, Alex interrogates him about her injury. He answers in distracted murmurs. Alex tugs the bloodstained jacket closer, realising whose it is. </p><p>She was brought in six hours ago by Oswald, had lost enough blood to go out cold. Doc worked for a few hours, and stitched her wrist good.</p><p>They have her on a O-negative blood bag to replenish the blood in her body. Alex stares at it, the receptacle is half-empty. </p><p>Doc snaps at her when she asks about Oswald, saying that Penguin irritated him to death every time she'd drift back to consciousness. </p><p>"Wanted to give you a morphine drip, but he wouldn't hear of it." Doc informs, ransacking the shelves for his happy hour. </p><p>"The crazy bastard couldn't hear the shrieking either. He kept squeezing your good hand white, yelling on and on." Doc finishes irritably. If he'd looked at her right then, he'd have seen a 23-year old forgetting all about her wound, the quandary she felt, stepping away from the confusing events to smile at the unknown event where she'd been holding Oswald's hands. </p><p>They would have been cold, like when he gave her the black umbrella. Soft pale skin. </p><p>"He'll be here in a minute." Doc says, looking at the time. </p><p> </p><p>He's about to inject the happy liquid into himself when there's a knock. </p><p>Doc sighs, sets the needle down unhappily and opens the door. </p><p>Oswald stands outside, devoid of a jacket, his wine-coloured vest creased slightly. His face, concerned and irritable, changes when Alex's eyes make contact with his and he hurries unevenly past the Doc to her. Alex pushes her lower body off the bed and onto the floor. </p><p>Oswald stops in front of her, looking down at her. "Alex." He whispers, teal eyes bright and sad. </p><p>"Hallo Oswald." Alex breaks into a soft smile, her arms curve fluently with reflex as she stands up, fingertips in line with her navel, demonstrating ballet's first position. </p><p>"Alex." He repeats again softly, stricken. </p><p>His hand touches her arm, warmth penetrating the jacket and touching her skin as it squeezes gently. </p><p>"How are you?" He asks intensely, grasping her arms and glancing at the Doc. </p><p>"Better now." Alex says softly. A small smile spread across his face to match hers, his scattered freckles more pronounced. His black spikes were in disarray, shifting across his face. </p><p>One tickled his sharp nose, shiny and soft. </p><p>Oswald restyled the lock, worries quelled by her restored demeanour enough to momentarily relax.</p><p> </p><p>Alex eyes the blood-bag , a crimson rivulet running into her vessel.</p><p>"What… What's happening now?" Alex asks tentatively, eyes flicking up at him. "With Fish ?" </p><p>He looks upset, features twisting as he grudgingly answers. "She backed off, Falcone's clan settled on a deal." He says vaguely. </p><p>"What was it?" Alex asks, feeling the jacket sleeve between two fingers, her blood's dried on them, spotting and dirtying her fingernails. </p><p>Oswald's lips press together, Alex feels slightly put out, observing his stiffened profile. He doesn't share. </p><p>Then there's a tinkling of glass and they both flinch away to see Doc, loopy-eyed and picking up broken pieces in his ungloved hands. </p><p>Oswald sighs audibly, Alex opens her mouth, soundless. Oswald's face softens, amused as she shuts it determinedly. </p><p> </p><p>He touches her arm, shaking his head and seeing himself turn away from better judgement. </p><p>"Real estate bartered for my life and consequently, yours." He says carefully. She nods, wrapping her fingers around her ankle to pick it up. </p><p>Her feet are naked and dirty. A day's roam around the city without flats didn't do them any favours.</p><p>A lengthy period of dancing have made them quite a sight. Callused and yet beautifully arched, delivered from dance was a herculean grace to her movement. It was a compliment to the pointe shoes and the skating ones, and merited an ovation in the motions of daily life. </p><p>Oswald's eyes move down from her face to her hands and dim at the tender gash on her left wrist, in plain view as she massaged her ankle. </p><p>"How do you feel?" He asks again, searching her face to find illness or any hurt. A calm pair of walnut eyes and a soft, rather sleepy face look up at him. </p><p>"I'm fine." Alex assures, standing up, she staggers a bit at the sudden movement after the day she's had. Oswald stares at her intently. "I am." She insists hoarsely. </p><p>He stares, "I only wish to help you." Oswald's hands gently wrap around her arms to steady her. He leans closer, face still set in that troubled manner. Alex looks surprised, as he softly whispers, lips near the shell of her ear, <em>"You can tell me anything."</em> </p><p>Oswald gazes into her eyes, Alex confusedly nods. </p><p>His fingers slide down to the crook of her elbows, Alex whispers back, "Your jacket." </p><p>Oswald smiles slightly, surprised. "Wear it."  </p><p> </p><p>"I'm grateful.." Oswald says, his face fervent , words failing as the image of Alex, collapsed on the bed, as he held onto her hand, trying to retain her life.</p><p>Her head held straight by him as it lolled limply, while Doc worked on the cut artery, their hands locked, her blood, smearing from her fingers on to his own. </p><p>But she looks revived now, the pure white that covered her face, shiny sweat daubed all over; are all gone. </p><p>"I'm grateful that you feel better." He says in a shaky voice. </p><p>Alex gives him a confused smile, she feels disoriented … and particularly vindictive towards Fish Mooney. There's also a lingering echo on the deeds of the past night she can't quite place her finger upon. There was something about Falcone that unsettled. The folder.. </p><p>Alex breathes out, looking at the blood-bag. </p><p>"Empty." She says triumphantly, looking expectantly at the Doc, only to find an empty chair with shards heaped on it. Alex's smile fades to bemusement. </p><p>She folds up the jacket's sleeve, yanks off the tape and pulls out the needle in a deft swoop, muttering exactly what she thought about the daft Doc as she dabbed away at the broken skin making use of a nearby spirit-soaked cotton swab. </p><p>Oswald clears his throat, his hand thrusted out to her. </p><p>Alex looks through fuzzy cowlicks to see him offering a bandage. She takes it, grimed nails scraping his palm. <span>. </span></p><p>Oswald graciously says nothing about her less-than-clean appearance, limping off to pay the surgeon. </p><p> </p><p>The bathroom door is open, and nursery rhymes are heard clearly, as Doc twirls his fingers at the mirror like a conductor. Oswald stares, unamused. </p><p>Then he reaches out and crams a wad of five-dollar bills into the addict's hand, and slams the lavatory door shut, effectively cutting off , "Little Miss Muffet, she sat on a tuffet."</p><p>Alex stands by the exit of the operation room, feeling like death warmed up the moment she left the operating bed. She yawns drowsily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.</p><p>Oswald wraps his hand around the knob, "Don Maroni has demanded you meet him forthwith." He states with a tilt of his head. </p><p>Alex blinks at him.  </p><p>Her eyes are dulling with exhaustion ,smooth skin flushed a sickly alabaster. She stares pleadingly, "Can't it wait ?" </p><p>Oswald himself would mock the Don in his head, Maroni's supercilious words, run-of-the-mill threats on his life upon his failure to tend to his wishes, hadn't been diluted from Mr. Carbone's death. Oh no, he still treated Oswald like a useful monkey, privileged more than others, yet kept on a tighter leash.</p><p>"I suppose so." Oswald's thin mouth curves into a smile, his ego getting a lovely petting when Alex thanks him softly. </p><p>"Anything else?" Alex asks as he opens the door. </p><p>"Yes," He admits, limping behind her. The poor light-ray slanting from the filth-slick, wall-sized window banishes little darkness from the lower levels they were in. </p><p>"I'm afraid you're in need of new lodgings." </p><p>Alex frowns at the cracking handrail, "Alas and alack." She remarks, a careless grin flitting across her lips. </p><p>"Alex." He beckons, <em>the elevator has arrived. </em></p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. What is seared in the flesh, might not be broken in the heart.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yay! Finally!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Oh," Alex swallows down a dry throat. Her feet have made smooth motions for most of a decade, always knowing which direction to move in and pose to take, yet nearly trip over each other in a simultaneous forward-backward.</p><p>She nods and steps toward him, there are no stairs near Oswald.</p><p><br/>
There's an elevator.</p><p><br/>
The blood-smelling air clogs up her nose.<br/>
Her eyes follow her feet as they drift towards the elevator. </p><p>Oswald follows her in, and he presses a round button.</p><p><em>The doors shut with a crashing bang.</em><br/>
Alex forgets how to breathe. Her lungs start dying from the lack of air and her father is dead from the smoke in his.</p><p>It's hot and dead, everywhere.</p><p>A hot dry matchbox being licked away by the flames. The polished wooden floor is burning, the hole she and Mitchell had stupidly created while toying with a gun is bigger now.</p><p>The patina of the floor has been charred off, turned into a hole, like the one she and Mitchell created when they'd been playing with a gun.</p><p>It shot off in their small hands and cracked open the floor. </p><p>There's a bigger one now.</p><p>The wood has been eaten away, eaten by blue-orange shapes.</p><p>Bright triangles of fire.</p><p><br/>
<em>The child's hands slam against the closet door, pleading in a scared rasp. Her father dies out , his fingers on the closet door near hers, yet somewhere she can't touch.</em>
</p><p><br/>
Oswald shifts on his good leg, backing away into a corner of the lift. Alex crouched down on the floor when it started moving.</p><p>
  <em>"Breathe through your nose, liebling slowly." Gertrud smiles at Oswald. His protuberant nose is red, it stopped working a time ago.</em>
</p><p><br/>
<em>The children had poked at him with the umbrella. Gertrud had gifted it to Oswald on his birthday, a tiny blue thing that matched his eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The trio ensconced him in the alley where disabled kids would be dumped by their mothers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yeah, we'll do it for your crazy bat." Then it began, they yanked the gift out his hands and chortled.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look at this ugly bird! "</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They poked him with it until Oswald shrieked, his feet had slipped amongst the ground. His back hugged the stone cold wall.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Don't be scared. Or we'll beat it out of you."</em><br/>
<em>And they did, jamming the umbrella over and over until either pitiful thing cracked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gertrud wrapped Oswald's fingers in her hands. They were long for his age, and pink from the cold.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It won't work! I hate it! " Oswald screamed. Gertrud shook her head</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It is my Cobblepot's nose." She lightly brushed it. "It is beautiful."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oswald sniffed, "They hurt me, s-s-so mu-much!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Until his nose had dripped red, and the umbrella was unrecognizable. Until the ferrule of the thing had cracked and the shaft was wounded and loose.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And you are so much better than them." She smiled, her eyes even then were bright with faith.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Don't you listen to them, Oswald. You're smart, and handsome. And one day you will grow to be a great man."</em>
</p><p>Oswald stumbles forward and unsuccessfully kneels down. His trembling tears him to the ground on his bad knee.</p><p>"Alex?" He moves her arm forcefully. Her head, buried underneath it, is exposed to the light. She doesn't look at him. </p><p>Alex shies away when he grips the jacket sleeve, her cheek against the vibrations.</p><p>"Alex, look at me. Look at me."</p><p>
  <em>"Breathe through your nose, liebling."</em>
</p><p>Oswald nods to himself shakily, his wet eyes glinting in the elevator light.</p><p>He shifts her face gingerly to look at him. Alex's pretty walnut eyes are cavernous.</p><p><em>They're sharp</em>. He thinks.</p><p>Oswald takes in air, as loudly as he can. </p><p>" Breathe, with me slowly."</p><p>Alex just stares at him, Oswald just repeats his words with as much softness as he's ever had and keeps breathing.</p><p>Alex blinks, and then breathes. At first they're short, noisy inhales that take so much effort. Then as he keeps whispering, rubbing her arm, they start to even out. Deepening swallows of air.</p><p>A sob escapes her lips, and Oswald pulls her into him fiercely. </p><p>
  <em>It's all right, you're the strongest person I'm starting to know. And I understand! What you're going through is scary, and it takes away all your strength.</em>
</p><p>Oswald smiles brokenly, and buries his nose in her hair.</p><p>
  <em>But it's fine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You're so much better than Fish Mooney.</em>
</p><p>He breathes in, and in the sweet smell of her hair, lingering beneath the blood.</p><p>Oswald vows.</p><p>
  <em>And I will never let her lay another hand on you.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm thinking of a title for this one. I'll figure it out in a couple of days.<br/>Can I ask you all how this one is is?<br/>I've fussed over it a lot.<br/>Tell me how it came out.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'll be fine, Oswald." Alex smiles weakly. </p><p>"Please.." He leans closer just a little bit, "I insist." </p><p>Alex looks up at him, and there's a familiar shine of mischief in her eyes. "Don't you have something better to do, Mr. Penguin?" </p><p>"With Carmine Falcone.." Oswald's eyes turn to ice, <em>What is she implying?</em> when Alex continues with a casual smile, "As your enemy? I don't think Don Maroni is too jolly with being number two."</p><p>"I suppose." Oswald takes one last look at Alex, her hair rolling down his jacket that's a size too big on her. They're both small people, but somehow that's not the only likeness Oswald feels between them. </p><p>Alex smiles at him one last time. "Goodbye, Mr. Penguin."</p><p>It comes to his mind later, when Alex has already unfurled her hand from his, and is sitting in a taxi, that he doesn't mind her calling him that.</p><p> </p><p>Alex barely notices the car-ride, head pressed against the window and downcast eyes bystanders to the pavement and the trees turning into a haze of celadon, until they shut and Alex drifts, musing on yesterday's night. </p><p>She thanks the driver, and starts a slow trudge up the familiar hallways that led to her apartment where it all began … her mind scoffs lazily at it. </p><p>
  <em>As often in Gotham, there was no pinpointing when something had begun, you couldn't shine light alongside the darkness that survived in this city.</em>
</p><p>Alex switches on the lights, drawing the heavy curtains on the windows and breathes out feelingly. </p><p>
  <em>The yellow light would eventually flicker out, and in its absence darkness bloomed, effortless. </em>
</p><p>Alex slowly walks over to the shower, shedding her clothes and carefully placing them out of the water's reach. It starts pouring out, warmly running all over her surface, cleansing it of the blood and filth. She stands quietly, moving the soap against her limbs, birthing a thick layer of foam. </p><p>Alex closes her eyes, stilling and enjoying the quaint shower, the last one here. </p><p>She ends up curled in bed, sliding over the jacket wantonly, after donning a ruffled tee and shorts. Barely awake, she sighs lightly and buries her nose into the black fabric, breathing in the stench of her blood mixing with the remnants of cologne and falls straight into sleep. </p><p>
  <em>She was dancing ballet, arms curving gracefully and her slender legs jumping high. A gorgeous tutu was stuck against her skin. She performed to Tchaikovsky's diamond tones. The crowd was shouting eerily, words that blended with the music. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alex looked around in alarm , her father was in the front seat, talking to an obscure figure. Her mom was nowhere to be seen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The stranger was dressed in a pinstriped suit and turned a hat over and over in his hands , but as she tried to look at his face, a ballerina slammed into her. Alex was thrown off to the side of the stage, she bumped into someone and suddenly the crowd's hoots and screams stopped. Alex looked up to see Oswald smiling down at her, meanwhile the ballerinas continued to dance. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Oswald, I.." Alex said, shaking uncontrollably. It all felt so strange. Oswald was dressed in a white and black suit. The wooden stage was slowly turning to ice. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He shushed her, still smiling. Alex was aware of his hands on her hips, unsettling the feathers in her black and white, swan-lake tutu .</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Warmth spread across her as Oswald pulled her against him, the crowd and dancers had vanished from the white stage, her father and his friend were walking out of the theatre, where they greeted Fish Mooney. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alex opened her mouth, looking into Oswald's teal eyes fretfully. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And he kissed her. His hands placed on either side of her face, heat rose in her. Her arms were around his neck as she kissed him back desperately, them the only ones present. He broke away as Alex cried out, she'd slipped on the ice, figure skates on her feet instead of pointe shoes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's fine." He assured her softly, holding her tight. The darkness grew, and his thin mouth was on hers again, Alex felt safe and warm, so very warm… and suddenly he was gone. Instantly, red-hot walls were closing in on her, she couldn't see anything as something swung against her head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Oswald!" Alex yelled, a ringing filling her ears as she thrashed against the closet she was shut in, her screams unheard as the ringing grew louder and louder . </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Alex's eyes slam open, leaking out tears , her body flushed in sweat and stares at the blanket hanging off the bed until it slides off. </p><p>The phone's ringing seems to circle the small room. </p><p>Alex covers her ears, pressing into the jacket, the phone finally shuts up, unanswered. </p><p>She swallows shakily, her hair tousling into the pillow, Alex stares at the light-blue covers on the floor, recounting the dream. <em>Oswald</em>. </p><p>There are miniature ponds of tears soaking into the pillow. </p><p>Her fingertips gently touch her mouth, almost feeling the kiss she'd dreamed of.</p><p>"<em>Oswald</em>."</p><p> </p><p>The trings of the phone emerge , accompanied with high buzzes as the caller has dialed again. Wide-eyed, Alex stares at the ringing device, her face red. "Coming!" She yells, nerves touchy.  </p><p>"Hallo ?" Alex asks tentatively</p><p>"<em>Alex!</em> " Mitchell says in a choked sort of voice. "<em>Gods, I've been on the tenterhooks here. They told me…</em>" Mitchell slumps into his settee, far away at his office with a towering stack of papers casting shadows on the back of his head and says forlornly. "<em>They told me what happened</em>."</p><p>Alex pauses, wondering what to say. </p><p>"I'm okay." She assures plainly. </p><p>"<em>How bad is it?</em>" Alex flexes her wrist underneath the black sleeve, a single, powerful string rises up near the end of her palm. "Just a scratch, it's healing." Alex says gallantly, knowing Mitchell a little too much. </p><p>"<em>Mitchell, could you tell me something?</em>" Alex asks briskly. "Yeah, of course, mate." Mitchell responds. </p><p>"Before Maroni approached you, did you ask someone else to sponsor the Centre?" Alex asks quietly, it's all guesswork, but.. </p><p>"<em>Yeah..</em>" He says in surprise. <em>"I met with Carmine Falcone during my first week here.. But he didn't buy.</em>" </p><p>"I'm sorry." Alex says feelingly. "That sucks, Mitchell." </p><p>"<em>It's okay, Alex. I'd rather you worry about your health…</em>" Mitchell answers, a smile playing on his face. "<em>You know you have a big competition to win?</em>"</p><p>"So that's the only reason you called?" </p><p>"<em>Alex..</em>" He grins into the phone, peeking at the colossal tower of sheets lounging on his desk and ducks his head. "I have to go now, there's the regenerating stack sitting on my desk to deal with."</p><p>"Zut alors! Ah, well I'll treat you to something sweet tomorrow, okay? You seem on your death-bed with that wheezing." </p><p>"<em>I don't wheeze.. And you're the one who nearly died yesterday</em>." He shakes his head knowingly<em>.</em> "<em>It's me, Alex. I know how you lie."</em></p><p>"All right, all right. I'm sorry!" Alex laughs softly ,and they end the call with laughter between them. </p><p>As Alex locks the door of the room which'll soon be cleared of her belongings , she thinks that maybe the fumes of Gotham has calmed Mitchell down a bit. </p><p>
  <em>There really was something beautiful in this city, where murders of crows would dip their beaks in gold. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Guten Tag, Christo." Alex smiles.."So was geht ab? What's up?"</p><p> </p><p>"...Crackers and a water?" Alex asks politely, crunching on a carrot. </p><p> </p><p>He pushes a plate of graham crackers at her, spiced with a narrowing look of his bloodshot eyes. </p><p>"Ten for half." He mutters oddly. </p><p>"<em>Half</em> <em>?</em>" Alex asks curiously. </p><p>"That's my lunch I'm sharing, you prick." He says, shooting a withering glare and disappears off. </p><p>Alex turns and looks around the shop. Teenagers in a busy conversation, enunciating in their jargon, with a paper bag lying between the table. </p><p>Is it a murder weapon or packets of weed? Alex sighs, blistering a cracker in her fingers. </p><p>A stoned wife meeting up her lover. Ah, people love getting high and all melodious </p><p>A redhead street kid is swapping milkshakes with an older one. </p><p>"Pay up." Christo says quietly. Alex smiles bracingly and passes him the bills. Christo takes out a teabag from the counter </p><p>"You even put in two ice cubes!" Alex exclaims, fishing one out. </p><p>"It's also drugged." He bullshits, stirring his green tea meditatively. </p><p>"They don't work on me." Alex says airily. </p><p>"<em>Sure</em>, you little shit." Christo snorts. </p><p> </p><p>"... You have any peanut butter?" Alex grins, tucking her face up. Christo grunts a long suffering grunt, and drags out a jar and a clean bottle of liquid from an overbooked shelf. </p><p>Alex swivels in her chair, just as the redhead street kid comes up with her half-empty glass. </p><p>The milk has curdled. The smelly lumps bump each other as the rat shakes it underneath Christo's nose.</p><p>"You call this a milkshake, mister?" She says loudly. Alex looks at Christo eagerly. </p><p>He responds quietly, "I call it curdled milk." Christo continues in a slow voice, his fingers ruefully depositing the clear liquid beneath the counter. </p><p>"Do you want-" </p><p>"I <em>want</em> to know why your customer service is <em>lame</em>, you jerk." She says, squinting her eyes weirdly. </p><p>The teenagers snicker as they leave, shoving each other's shoulders and glancing at Christo. </p><p>He goes still and first turns his head to look at Alex. </p><p>Alex's grin is no more.</p><p>Christo looks back at the girl with a satisfied look. </p><p>And the missy thumps the glass on the counter so violently, that it flies up into Christo's eyes. </p><p>Alex pauses , <em>too violently</em>. </p><p>"This is no time to be smirking, you jerk! I wanna know<em> why</em> your products are<em> lame</em>." She yells, "<em>And</em> your customer service."</p><p><em>His underpants are next.</em> Alex hides a smirk with a very showy yawn and gets up, turning her head from the two. </p><p>"I'd help you deal with her, but…" Alex looks at the door and sure enough, there is a clandestine flash of blonde hair by the stairs. </p><p>"I want to pay a visit downstairs first." Alex says with a sharp grin at the redhead's horror and runs down into his basement giddily. </p><p>Christo hand claws around the redhead's arm and he says patiently, "Too bad about your milkshake, cow milk will curdle if you leave it open, a few hours at least." He finishes sharply. </p><p>"I know, I'm vegan! And I dropped vinegar in to curdle it. Let go of me, you jerk!" </p><p>Alex stops short at the open door of the dark and fragrant basement, swallowing at the small space. </p><p>Her shadowed eyes land on a girl hurriedly chopping off the plants set on a long table, grown with as much care as Christo possibly gives in these activities, and stuffing them in her paper bag. </p><p>"<em>Freeze, kid!</em> " </p><p>"What the-" She shouts , decibels appropriate to the panic in her voice. </p><p>Alex yanks away the scissors, the girl fleetly tries to sidestep her, abandoning the job. Alex grabs her arm easily, hissing when she slams the elbow into her ribs. </p><p>"<em>Damnit, Ivy!</em>" The thief groans, struggling to no achievement as she's hauled upstairs.</p><p>Christo's on the other side of the counter. Alex hands him the bag, he opens and hisses softly, taking out the drugs. </p><p> Chirsto begins hotly, "They're still premature.." </p><p>"<em>Did you have to cut them?</em>" Ivy and Christo match in looks.</p><p>"Couldn't you reach her sooner?" Christo sighs at Alex , still holding onto Ivy. </p><p>"Shut up, it's your fault. Probably your stupid acting that tipped them off." The other one says, with a jerk of her messy curls at the two adults. </p><p>"Yeah, people don't usually give curdled milk baths to a stranger's eyes without the intent of drug theft." Alex agrees with the air of one giving a wise sermon. </p><p>Christo glares darkly, nursing his plants. </p><p>"Selina, if we sun them, they'll be superpotent." Ivy gestures, reaching for the bag openly. </p><p>"<em>We are caught, Ivy!</em> " Selina gestures one lithe arm around her. "<em>You even gave them my name.</em>" She says irately, struggling against Alex. "<em>We ain't getting your plants !"</em></p><p> </p><p>"Kid, you wanna get a proper plant based milkshake? You like plants right?" Alex asks kindly, letting go of Selina. She takes several steps away. </p><p>"Yeah." Ivy says slowly, "I do." A pleased freshness lurking in her dark green eyes. "And I want one. You paying, right?"</p><p>"Yeah." Alex says, forcing her wallet into Christo's brittle fingers. "Take a pick of the food too." </p><p>Selina lurks by the exit in surprise. </p><p>Christo lets go of Ivy, who eagerly perches down, strolls behind his counter and says quietly, staring through his dark limp hair at Alex. "Don't come back here again." </p><p>And he grabs the bottle of clear liquid and dumps the contents into his green tea. </p><p>Alex pretends not to hear him and sniffs the drink. It's ethyl alcohol. Christo bats at her perked-up nose but Alex startles away to Selina. </p><p>"<em>Chicken</em>." Christo mutters. </p><p>"Kid! You eating?"</p><p>Selina gives a wide-eyed sigh, (<em>the way only teenagers, thank god and tell him to stop mistaking yappy souls for fully-functioning ones, can</em>) , stuffs her hands in her pockets and makes herself comfortable beside Ivy. </p><p>"Sure." </p><p><em>The attitude!</em> Alex thinks morosely. "So, Selina-" </p><p>"Cat." She interrupts, stuffing into the smattering of food Alex lays out as Christo goes downstairs to his plants. "It's Cat. And <em>why</em> is a famous dancer giving street trash, food?"</p><p>"Yeah, why?" Ivy pipes up, munching on a vegan slice of days-old cake. </p><p>"Have you done surveillance, Cat?" Alex asks interestedly. </p><p>"Literally all the time." She emphasizes, pointing her own slice around the place. "That's how we decided to rob this place. Since you and that guy are always arguing, figured Ivy could do the same." She says, shooting her friend a tired look. </p><p>"And will you spy on Carmine Falcone for me?" Alex asks quietly, ignoring the jab. "Since you now owe me a favour?" </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We'll be journeying into the plot steadily now that the stage of the competition will be set properly in the next chapter.<br/>For those wondering about Montoya, I want to write her into the future where she plays a more major role in the plot. That's the one thing I really wanted to see in Season 5.<br/>I think I added her too quickly in my story. I'm really sorry guys.<br/>I didn't think much of it, since I also wanted to see my shortcomings as a writer. They're getting pretty obvious.<br/>I'd love a beta reader. If someone wants to. The Oswald fandom is pretty dormant, still, I've got my fingers crossed.<br/>I'm thinking of Monty seeing Alex again in the upcoming pages. Lemme know what you think of zat.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>They'll meet in the later chapters, thank you all for reading this !!<br/>Comments and thoughts are welcomed like hugs , kudos are _ineffable_ !!<br/>My TumBlr is Explorer-of-clouds .. Hit me with thoughts , suggestions and requests . Talking is greatly loved .</p></blockquote></div></div>
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